


There Walks in Cool Disguise

by allegoricalrose (SilentStars)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mentions of Cancer, Miscarriage, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentStars/pseuds/allegoricalrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his farewell tour, the Doctor accidentally lands in the parallel universe unaware and runs into the girl his hearts could never quite get past. But why is she unsurprised to see him? And where is the Metacrisis?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Radiation was humming through his blood, pulsing through extensively myelinated axons and leaping across synaptic clefts when he almost deliriously punched in the coordinates to see her one more time. Saving the best for last, or maybe the most painful. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he could physically survive for long during this last goodbye, to speak less of his mental fortitude, and it was unspeakably dangerous to cross her timeline anyway. But she always made him better and he was clinging to a fast unraveling hope that she could do it one last time. Any mother figure in his life was long gone, as he had just been brutally reminded, and though Rose wasn’t that to him, he couldn’t resist the urge to find comfort in his final minutes. 

The ignition lever was unusually heavy and he slumped under the console once they were in flight, breathing heavily and tiny spots of light scintillating in front of his closed eyelids. Illusions, he reminded himself, phosphenes; light without light, smiles without joy, bouncing while in stasis… All life was artificial without her, though. 

He hardly noticed the TARDIS shuddering during landing, dimly registering that he should probably be fine-tuning the landing but not caring. Bumpy, smooth: what was the difference to a dying man? Crawling toward the door, he painfully hauled himself to his feet and pushed open the door mostly with his own weight. There it was, the Powell Estates, dark save for twinkling fairy lights across a number of balconies and a few harsh street lamps. He stumbled to the brick wall and bowed his head to catch his breath. 

She was nearby; he could almost sense it, not by telepathy or his other mental extensions of the self, but by the heightening adrenaline and dopamine. His reward was close, the dopamine cried out: _go, go, get, want_. The beating of his own hearts almost deafened it, but suddenly he registered something in the air and sniffed again, deliberately. 

The timing was off: it was about 2013, not late 2004 like he’d aimed for. Collapsing against the wall, he let his far-too-heavy head fall to his knees. She couldn’t be here; she was already in the alternate universe, already with… 

And yet, there was a blonde walking hesitantly toward him, bundled up in a hat and mittens against the bitter cold he was only now feeling, confusing the pounding dopamine with ice cold cortisol. 

His hearts: here came his hearts.

“Doctor?” Her voice was quiet, controlled, resigned.

“Rose? What are you…you can’t, I…” He choked out, his fingers itching for the screwdriver but his muscles too fatigued to do anything other than flap his mouth open and closed.

She swallowed and bit her lip, shifting her weight onto the other hip. “Are you okay?” She had yet to look him directly, focusing her gaze on some point on his cheek or to the side of his eyes.

“Am I? I…you…”

But she didn’t let him continue, obviously familiar with the signs of Time Lord Babbleitis. “I didn’t know you were back,” she said in the same quiet, reserved tone, “Are you, um…here, let me help you up.”

He started at her agape as she gently wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him to standing with the patience of someone had done it before. As soon as he was standing, she disengaged herself from his side and stepped back a couple of paces. 

“Rose, I…” he tried, searching her eyes with desperation, trying to put the pieces together but only succeeding at knocking the puzzle box on the floor. 

“Doctor, you don’t owe me an explanation or anything, you… it’s fine, okay? I just didn’t expect to see you, didn’t know you were back.” She paused and looked him in the eye for the first time, “Why are you back?”

Baffled, he just gawked at her and she sighed. “Don’t worry, I won’t press you. What are you doing here though, at the estates?”

“What are you doing here?” he forced out after swallowing. She shouldn’t be here, but even more so he shouldn’t be here and he knew he should just leave immediately, leave her to her life. 

“I… just reminiscing I guess. It’s different, I know, but…” She puffed out a deep breath and looked away. “Things were so much simpler here.”

“I meant to come earlier, I wanted to see… never mind, it was a mistake, I shouldn’t be here at all,” he mumbled, looking down at his shoes and shuffling his foot along the thin layer of snow. His heart was poised to run, but his body was unwilling. 

His weakened senses must have leapt into a swan song because he saw with great clarity the teardrop that landed amidst the snowflakes on the ground in front of him. Wrenching his gaze upward, he saw Rose tighten her lips and clench her jaw as she turned away quickly and swiped her hand furiously across her face. 

“Rose, I… I don’t really understand why you’re…but I know I have no right to ask, I’m, I’m sorry. For everything, for everything that was said and wasn’t…said.” His binary vascular system was efficient but not enough so for his current emotional and physical condition and he swayed slightly as black spots swarmed his peripheral vision for a moment.

Concern flashed in her eyes and he saw her lean forward ever so slightly before clenching her hand and forcing her center of gravity back. A neutral mask dropped down over her face. “I know. You don’t have to… I understand. It still hurts sometimes, but I’ve moved on, alright?”

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down and the spots threatening to reform their conquering army. Steeling himself, he caught her eye. “Are you happy?” he whispered, knowing he didn’t deserve to ask that question, whatever the answer might be. 

She looked startled out of her mask for only a second, fire flashing in her eyes for even less time. “Are you?” she deflected.

“No,” he whispered, so quietly that he hoped she didn’t hear him, but of course she did. At full capacity he would have smiled and rambled something vague and glib, but his dying cells had long since given up on their emotion regulation abilities.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, “I…I do want you to be happy, you know.”

Leaning his back against the bricks, he closed his eyes. “I tried. You… Well, anyway, it’s done now.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh. 

They stood unmoving for a long minute before Rose finally took a deep breath and tentatively stepped forward, taking his hand. “Come on, there’s an all night café around the corner,” she said quietly, “Let’s get some coffee in you before you…”

He nodded with a lump in his throat, knowing he shouldn’t, not even sure if his legs could carry him that far; he was helpless when her soft hand was in his. Truthfully, he would follow her to the end of the universe. They meandered together, her hand limp as if to allow him to let go without repercussion at any point; he gripped it tightly like the last lifeline that it was. He glanced back to the TARDIS and panicked a second when he didn’t see it before recalling that he’d set it to a second ahead to keep it out of sight of a younger Rose Tyler. 

The bell rang above their heads as she pushed open the door and led him to a dingy booth in the corner. The place was empty, dark, dreary, but he sank into the yellow plastic bench gratefully. Without another look at him, she turned and walked over the counter, instantly affecting a broad smile and bantering with the lone employee as she ordered two cups of coffee. The Doctor watched her raptly. Apparently the teenager had indeed been charmed since she came back to the booth with a complimentary slice of some loaf cake that she pushed to the middle of the table. As she sat down, her social smile dropped and she turned her attention to fiddling with the sugar shaker. 

He sat still as stone, watching her. He couldn’t bring himself to ask about the Metacrisis, her life now, but he did need to know how she was back in her home universe. Things clicked into place suddenly when he remembered the TARDIS coral.

“Rose, the TARDIS, did it—”

“Yes,” she interrupted softly, surprisingly gently, glancing up at him and then just as quickly down at her hands. 

“Oh. I just wish…I know why you didn’t but…I would have liked to know. It’s—” He swallowed, pleased for them that the accelerated growth process was effective, that she, they, could travel the stars again, but his hearts aching that they didn’t even bother letting him know that they managed to get back to the prime universe. Again, not that they owed him one iota. 

Anger flashed in her eyes, fully fledged this time. “And how was I supposed to do that? You don’t exactly have a postbox, and besides, I didn’t think you really wanted to know. You just swanned off, not a word to anyone, we didn’t even know…” She took a deep breath to calm herself down. “You know what? It’s fine, it really is. I’m fine. Just…Just don’t expect you can drop in and expect things will be the same. You left, you made your choice, just like he did, and I can’t do it again.”

She stood up abruptly just as the teenager arrived with their tea-stained mugs of black coffee. 

“Rose, please—don’t go, please,” he begged unabashedly, desperation emanating through every dying cell membrane. “Stay, just a little bit longer, then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”

As ashamed as he was of his actions, both at Bad Wolf Bay and at the present, he was even more horrified at the painful sadness that passed over Rose’s face at his final words and his hearts clenched in a macabre dance. And what did she mean by ‘like _he_ did?” Suddenly he realized that he couldn’t feel the Metacrisis in his mind, which meant he wasn’t in the immediate 10-mile or so vicinity. Coupled with the fact that she looked so…defeated. Not the cheerful, enthusiastic, strong woman he knew she could be. 

She slowly sat back down, likely more to avoid a scene as the teenager was looking flustered and unsure what to do. She shot him a wide smile and gestured that he set the mugs down, thanking him profusely. 

“Fine,” she muttered after the boy retreated, bitterness creeping around the edges of her words, “We can pretend, we’ve always been good at that… Tell me about your travels then, how many inter-galactic wars have you averted lately? How many lives have you saved out there?”

“Rose, I don’t want—”

“What do you want then? How can I help you, Doctor? Tell me, because you know I’ll do it.” She didn’t even bother to hide the resentment this time.

“I want you—” Really he should stop there but there was something he wanted even more, “I want you to be happy, Rose, that’s all I want.” There were three more words he wanted to say, three words that never before was there such a taboo on saying.

“Oh, you’ve made that abundantly clear. But you don’t know what will and won’t make me happy, and you sure as hell shouldn’t just decide for me,” she bit out.

Closing his eyes and opening then again, trying to meet her eyes that effused anger and hurt. “I was wrong, I was so wrong, I regret it every day, you have to know that…” He shook his head at himself, “No, I’m not here to win your pity or your forgiveness, I shouldn’t be here at all—I just had to see you one last time, it was selfish and I messed up on the timing, I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry.” 

He tried to stand up, knocking his knees on the bottom of the table and tumbling to the ground when his ankle caught on the table leg. Darkness encroached and he scrambled to his feel and began to run blindly, out the café door and into the snow, trying to get to the safety of the TARDIS before he regenerated.

Failing. Falling.

A hand appeared on his shoulder just as he felt the regeneration energy surge and he was about to push it away, cry out to her to stand back, when all of a sudden the energy abated. Still there, but not urgent, simmering now below the surface instead of boiling over. The pain from the radiation overload also started to lessen, the abrupt shift from agony to dull ache enough to quickly propel him down the road to exhausted relief. 

He slipped quietly into unconsciousness, foetal position on the snowy ground, but not before he registered Rose’s worried face crouched down above him. And the zeppelins in the sky above.


	2. Chapter 2

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer playing limp snow angel, instead tucked up between soft sheets and a heavy duvet. His shoes and jacket were off, folded neatly in a pile on the other side of the bed. Glancing around the room, his first coherent thoughts involved the colorlessness of the room; white sheets, white walls, closed white curtains, white dresser with a white vase. The vase may have, at one point, contained a white flower, he suspected, but it was just a dry twig now. If he didn’t know better, mainly from the presence of the bed under him, he would guess he was in the zero room on the TARDIS.

The Doctor wiggled his fingers and held them up to his face: still those lovely manly hands; he hadn’t regenerated yet anyway. Stretching out languorously for a moment, he turned his rather impressive brain to solving the mystery of his location and the owner of this cozy bed. The last thing he remembered… The Master, Wilfred, that booth…

Ah. It all came flooding back: his reward visits to past companions, finding Rose again, the depth of sadness in her eyes… And then he remembered his very last memory: the zeppelins in the sky. Somehow he had ended up in Rose’s parallel universe. She must have brought him back here when he passed out.

 _Wait_ , he realised, if he’d arrived here somehow, why had she been so unsurprised to see him? She had seemed sad, that he understood, he knew he’d hurt her by leaving without even saying goodbye, but she had been resigned too, as if this had happened often. Had a future him done this same thing, dropping in on her inappropriately from time to time? He couldn’t say this was beyond the realm of possibilities, indeed the temptation was always thumping through some part of his brain, but he was still horrified: it was cruel to keep doing this, clearly it was upsetting her, and he didn’t deserve one minute with this goddess, much less sadistic, masochistic repeated visits… He had made his choice, she had (sort of) made hers, and he had to live with that.

And speaking of which, what was going on with this regeneration? He could feel the radiation still buzzing through his blood, but the pain was negligible and the regeneration energy levels were present but inert. It was as if something had hit a ‘pause’ button. Maybe it had something to do with that aborted regeneration before, the foolish attempt to keep this body for Rose but had only ironically spawned the Metacrisis. Just deserts, he supposed…

Maybe this was actually the end; maybe he was properly dying, dying without regeneration. This was just the blissful period before the end, the cessation of pain. He’d thought he had at least one more regeneration cycle available, but maybe one of his past regenerations had used up more than one cycle. Definitely possible. With the Time Lords gone, he had no hope of extra regenerations being granted. Perhaps it was time, he mused darkly, it wasn’t as if he had any real reason to keep going; he’d begged to die with the push of that big red button, many times thereafter.

He sat upright in the bed and swung his legs over the edge. If these were his last few hours, he wasn’t going to hide away, not when Rose was obviously nearby. It wasn’t a desire; it had evolved into a need to see her, to touch her, for her face to be the last thing he saw before closing his eyes for the last time. He gave brief thought to the Metacrisis, but decided to deal with him when the time came; knowing himself, he wouldn’t be pleased that the Doctor was here at all, much less consorting with Rose, but, well, he wouldn’t exactly be shocked either. At the moment he struggled to care; dying man’s prerogative. Besides, he wasn’t too impressed with the chronic pain and defeat he’d seen in Rose’s eyes and wondered if his double had played any role in that. He had to find out, at least; she deserved every happiness in life.

Quietly pushing open the bedroom door, he glanced around the rest of the small flat, ignoring everything until he found her. She was curled up on the sofa, a thin blanket falling off her flannel-covered legs and her arm over her eyes. His hearts ached at the evidence of her compassion, that she would give up her bed and spend an uncomfortable night on the sofa for the man who had loved her and left her. And never even told her that he loved her.

Tiptoeing over to her, he gently lifted the blanket to better cover her but his movements caused her to stir awake. Her eyes slowly focused on him, closing again once she registered him in front of her.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say goodbye,” she mumbled, her eyes still closed.

“No, I…” he stuttered, suddenly realising that she probably wouldn’t want him there, that he’d caused her enough pain, dying or not. “Um, I can go, if you want, I just…um, thank you for taking care of me.” He backed away slowly, his hands ridiculously raised as if to assure the closed-eyed girl that he meant her no harm.

She blearily opened her eyes and regarded him warily. “You don’t have to go, I’m just surprised, that’s all. I expected you to sneak out before I woke up.”

The Doctor narrowed his eyebrows. “Why would I do that?” When she didn’t respond he swallowed, knowing exactly why she would think that of him. “It’s been so long…I…I’m sorry for everything, again. Can we…” He hesitated, tugging at his shirt cuff, knowing his hearts were out and begging for a beating on his sleeve. “Can I stay for a bit? We can talk, maybe? If you want…”

She continued to eye him with caution, but finally nodded and shifted to sit up. “Do you want some tea?”

He nodded, grateful for so many things, and held out his hand to help her stand up. Flustered, she smiled weakly and pulled a jumper that had been lying on a nearby chair over her vest top as she walked to the kitchen. He followed right behind her, unwilling to let her out of his sight for even a second.

“Black?”

The Doctor’s face morphed into comic horror. “No, um, white with sugar please, er, if you have it.”

She looked at him a little strangely but said nothing, just nodded and opened the fridge to grab the milk. Splashing a good amount into both cups, she plopped teabags into the mugs before reaching over to another cupboard to procure a glass. Glancing at the Doctor out of the corner of her eye, she filled it up with water from the pitcher in the fridge and shook out a couple of small pills from a bottle on the window ledge.

“I assume you’ll want this,” she said hurriedly, placing both in front of him and turning away.

He looked bemusedly at the pills and water, but shrugged and gulped down the water, leaving the pills on the table. The cold water did feel good, he decided, but he wasn’t sure why she was giving him ibuprofen. Maybe he’d hit his head when he fell and she had just forgotten, with all their time apart, that his biology didn’t require external analgesics. Dark waves of jealousy rippled through his mind; she’d probably forgotten because the Metacrisis was half-human; maybe he had taken pain medication on occasion. Suddenly the flat, which had seemed cozy and snug a moment ago, seemed suffocating and he forced himself to maintain an even breathing pattern.

Jealous of himself, that seemed about right. Clenching his jaw, he reminded himself not to bring his double up, that it was absolutely none of his business, and just to appreciate the time that he did have alone with Rose; his bitterest enemy, not just himself but himself with the love of his life, would probably back soon enough.

“Um, thanks, but I feel fine. Fine and dandy, actually,” he chirped, rolling his ‘l’s along his tongue with renewed lightness.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t say anything, turning to the now boiling kettle and pouring it into the tea mugs. Silently, she passed a cup and a bowl of sugar over to him and he happily dumped three or four spoonfuls in before stopping at the startled look on her face.

“What? Surely you’ve seen me make tea before, Rose Tyler, it’s not been that long,” he said laughingly, adding one more spoonful for good measure. She smiled that weak smile of hers that he was beginning to despise and again said nothing. They sat mutely for a few minutes, the Doctor carefully stirring his tea and fiddling with the cup and handle to keep his nervous fingers occupied.

He broke the silence violently. “I did—I do love you, you know.”

His hearts both stopped at that impulsive admission, the words feeling strange on his lips and even stranger waving across the air. The words were rusty like he’d finally managed to twist the key in an old lock, but now that the door was unlocked it sprung open like it had never been hidden away in the first place.

He wasn’t sure how he’d expected, hoped, she would respond, but it probably wasn’t a sad nod. “I know,” she whispered, stirring her tea with great concentration.

“You do?”

She only nodded, avoiding his intense gaze.

“Oh. Good, I’m glad,” he mumbled, relieved, really, that his brilliant Rose had known all along, that she hadn’t read too much into his martyred rejection on the beach. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her, but his hand had been forced by the presence of the metacrisis that day, even if it had been his own decision in the end.

He was unprepared for the fury that rose in her eyes. “Why’s that?” she asked in a low tone, nostrils flaring. “Do you think it makes things easier? That knowing you loved me and I love you makes my daily life easier to bear? You left me!” she ground out in a shaky voice, turning her head against the tears that had begun to leak out of her eyes but steadfastly refusing to run away.

Foolhardy relief transformed instantly into regret and he excoriated himself with even more vigour than usual. _What was he doing?_ Dying or not dying, the pain he was causing her was unforgiveable. And yet he knew that running away would hurt her even more, especially when she was struggling so hard not to do so herself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching across the table to gently take her chin and angle her face so she could see the sincerity in his eyes. “You don’t deserve any of this, you deserve only happily ever afters…I’m sorry. What can I do to make some of it up to you? We can—“ He was intending to offer her anything, offer her a trip to some sort of paradise island, money, cars, his TARDIS itself, anything to vanquish the sadness in her eyes even for a minute, but she interrupted him.

“You’ve done enough, Doctor,” she muttered angrily, gulping down her remaining tea so fast that he saw her grimace in pain and bringing the empty mug to the sink. She stood there for a long time, her back to him and her hands bracing herself on the edge of the counter.

As he waited for her to compose herself, he looked around the flat. It was small, a one bedroom he would guess, spartan in decoration as if they hadn’t lived there long, a few unpacked boxes stacked in the corner. There was a photo frame of a small ginger boy on an end table, a bunch of crisp and clearly unread magazines on the coffee table, and a coat rack with a couple of woolen coats and scarves; otherwise, there were absolutely no personal effects. Glancing around the kitchen, he realised it was the same story, the walls and counters empty except for generic appliances. Even the mugs they were drinking out of were white, non-descript.

Excusing himself quietly to use the bathroom, he quickly and guiltily checked out the medicine cabinet, becoming more agitated with each second. As he’d suspected but had desperately hoped he was wrong about, he found only feminine toiletries in the bathroom, only one (white) toothbrush in the (white) holder. Anger and rage began to replace the jealousy that had been simmering in his veins.

He stormed back to the kitchen, pausing to rein in his temper at the doorway; she was still hunched over the sink, still as a statue. Moving to stand behind her, he tried to rotate her gently to face him but she held herself too stiffly to accomplish anything. Instead, he moved to the side so he could at least see her profile.

“Rose, what did he…The other Doctor, what…?”

His arms may not have done it, but his words certainly did as she whipped around furiously to face him, her face contorting in such wrath that he almost stepped back.

“I’m so sick and tired of this same argument, over and over! I’m sorry that I love him, sorry that I’ll always love him—he’s you! I can’t keep apologising for that, I can’t help my pathetic little ape brain not knowing what to do when the man I love splits himself in two. There’s no human neurocircuitry for that, no neurons specialising in loving a paradox.”

The Doctor was a little confused at the vehemence in her voice, not to mention the fact that it seemed like she’d had this argument before with him: it was becoming more and more likely that he came back her in his future, her past. He’d broach that subject later.

“Rose, I want you to love him: that’s exactly what I wanted…I don’t expect…”

“Stop messing me around!” she yelled, jerking away from his arm that had reached up to lay on her shoulder. “You can’t say that, like it’s obvious, when it was clearly part of why you left. You—I can’t keep doing this, Doctor, please.”

He cocked his head to the side, perplexed. “Well, yes, it’s exactly why I left you here—I thought…I _wanted_ you to be with him. It hurt like hell, it still hurts, but—“

“You want me to be with him?” she yelled, incredulously, “What, I’ll just pick up the phone and call him over here, shall I? He left me too! You’re both so bloody self-sacrificing; all you’re doing is hurting me by trying to make me happy!” She stomped out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, slamming the door closed behind her. Seconds later she came back out, dumping a box in his lap and returning to the bedroom.

The Doctor’s gaze shifted between the door to her room and the box for a few seconds before he finally he finally lifted the lid. Something was wrapped carefully in soft yellow material and he unraveled it gently. He didn’t recognise the blackened, rough object in his hands for a few seconds until suddenly, with a sickening lurch of his stomach, he did.

The TARDIS coral offshoot, shriveled and dead.

His mouth went dry and a lump formed in his throat as he tenderly rotated it in his hands, feeling a wave of sadness emanate from his bond with the TARDIS. Reverently he wrapped the corpse back up and placed it in the box, placing the lid on top.

Without hesitation he opened the bedroom door and wrapped his arms around Rose, barely aware that he’d had to lay down on the bed with her to do so. She struggled against his chest for only a moment before surrendering, burying her face into his shoulder and silently sobbing. Tears sprang behind his eyes as well, but he managed to hold them back, wanting this to be about her, not him. It should always be about her, really, he thought while stroking her hair.

He would slaughter that bastard, he ruminated murderously, reveling a little in the idea of killing himself; maybe the Metacrisis could be the prophesised death… Well, maybe not kill him, he mused as the minutes ticked on, but punch him. Repeatedly. A good swift knee to the crotch, maybe. Yes. And then tie him up and leave him on some distant planet without technology. Maybe with some man-eating snakes nearby. Yes, man-eating snakes would be good.

He had given the Metacrisis his entire world and it sounded like he’d squandered it on something as stupid (but patently in-character, he had to admit) as self-doubt. The TARDIS coral dying likely played a role too, he guessed. But at the moment, he would trade it all, the traveling, even the TARDIS itself, for the chance of that 2am taxi ride with her. Possibly even for just one kiss.

As if she’d read his mind, he was suddenly aware of her lips no longer passively brushing his shirt, now trailing hungry, desperate kisses up his shoulder blade until they reached the bare skin of his neck. He stiffened for only a second before making a decision; dying or not, he wasn’t going to push her away for cowardly selfish reasons any longer. Moaning lightly, he wholeheartedly reciprocated, brushing his lips along her hairline before bending his head down to capture her own neck, sucking lightly at first and then biting down gently. Her breathing sped up and he heard his groan mirrored back at him, spurring him on to continue in his lips’ exploration up her neck, under her jaw, and along the side of her ear. She shivered and he felt himself grow hard almost immediately in response.

He lifted his leg over hers and slowly rolled her onto her back, hovering above and continuing to suck on her ear lobe. Raking her nails across his back with ferocity, she ached her hips up into his and he was powerless to stop himself bucking back into her heat.

Growling, she suddenly flipped him over without warning, keeping her pelvis firmly against his and rocking gently. Quickly she unbuttoned his oxford and spread it open, charting his chest and neck with rough kisses and bites.

“Rose…” he gasped, his brilliant mind reduced to a mixture of mush and a pounding need to merge bodies with her, to end the vast literal and metaphorical distance between them.

He was just reaching up to capture her face and kiss her properly when she froze, her lips immobilized over the right side of his chest. He stilled, assuming she was having second thoughts and trying to will his erection back into submission, but she remained rooted in place.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, squirming to extract himself from her body but she grasped his arms so tight it was almost painful.

“Doctor?” she whispered, her face blanched and her tone nonplused.

Bewildered at her reaction, he bobbed his head up and down in affirmation as he slowly sat up. Faster than he’d ever seen her move, even running down the hall away from that Dalek, she stumbled off him and pressed herself against a corner.

“Rose? What…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…but why do you look so afraid?” He took a step toward her, concerned, but she only skittered to the other end of the room like a spooked animal. His eyes darted around the room, behind him, looking for the source of her fear, but came up with nothing more nefarious than the dead flower on the dresser.

“Two hearts?”

The Doctor was just getting more and more confused. “Er, yes? You know that, you—" His eyes opened wide as the penny dropped. “Fuck.” It was his turn to back away from her, almost tripping over the bedframe in his scramble. “Rose, I thought you knew—I thought…wait, what?! How did we, we were talking, you…”

“I thought you were…he…he left years ago, and I thought…I just assumed, I thought you couldn’t ever come back…” She took a deep breath, her eyes locked onto his. “How...?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t even realize at first, I thought you had made it back to my universe somehow, it wasn’t until I fell unconscious that I even saw the zeppelins… Oh, God, Rose, I had no idea you didn’t know it was me, I’m so sorry…” He tugged at his collar.

She let out a dark laugh, more of a guffaw than anything else. “The classic twin mix-up…” Relaxing a little, she dropped her arms from against the wall and stood up straighter, “I know you didn’t realize, it’s okay, I should have considered the possibility, I just…You said the walls were closing, Doctor.”

“They were, they, are, at least last I checked…I shouldn’t be here, I don’t know how I’m here. I asked the TARDIS to bring me to you before we met, I had to see you one last time before…anyway, I don’t know how she did it.” He ran his hand through his hair, looking intently down at his socks.

He heard her take a tentative step toward him and looked up.

“You love me?”

Scratching the back of his head, he finally met her eye. “Um, yes. But, um, I don’t expect anything from you, I just had to say it, it does need to be said: I regret that every day.”

His eidetic memory of their conversation finally caught up to him and a slow smile spread across his face as he processed the misunderstandings. “You still love me?” he asked in wonder.

“I shouldn’t love either of you,” she muttered, examining a piece of her hair, “seems I can’t shake it.” She fixed a steely gaze on him. “But loving doesn’t necessarily connote liking, Doctor. Abused children still love their abusing parent.”

“Right,” he blustered, “of course, like I said, I’m not here to…it was an accident, I really am sorry, Rose.”

“I know, I know; you can stop apologising now. It’s getting old.”

“Sorry. Er, okay.” He looked at her searchingly. “Rose, what happened with the Metacrisis? Where is he?” His eyes grew dark, “Did he hurt you?” he asked, harkening to her abused children comment.

Rose shook her head and sighed. “No, he didn’t hurt me, not like that anyway. He’s out there somewhere, building orphanages and practicing medicine in third world countries and stuff… Last I heard he was in Uganda, that was almost a year ago though.” She took a deep breath and met the Doctor’s still darkening gaze. “He had his reasons, they’re between me and him, but I understand them.”

He began pacing back and forth in the tiny bedroom, his fingers fidgeting up a storm: tugging at his tie, pulling down his shirt sleeves and pushing them right back up again, raking through his hair. “What possible _reason_ could he have to leave you?” he growled, much more to himself than to Rose.

“Things got difficult, for _both_ of us, Doctor, but I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I wish he wouldn’t have just disappeared one day, with nothing more than a post-it note on the table, but it was his prerogative; he wasn’t bound to me forever or anything.” She sighed again, “I think he thought he was doing it in my best interest.”

The Doctor was furious now, the fidgeting giving way to clenched fists at his side. How dare he, abandoned her, abandoned Rose, the pusillanimous slug left because of ‘difficulties’… Even the Time Lord’s thoughts were disjointed, a most disconcerting phenomenon.

It only took a raised eyebrow from Rose’s direction to immediately deflate him. _Ah._ He’d left her too, and with the sanctimonious justification of knowing what was best for her. Without even a cowardly note to say goodbye.

He hung his head and shuffled his feet. “If I could do it all over again, I would.”

That weak smile was back. “Yeah? And what, drop him off here and whisk me away on the TARDIS? Watch me ‘wither and die’ before your eyes, no chance of a normal life?”

Her words were intentionally biting because they true: even now, he still wanted her to be able to have a normal, long life over a precarious and likely shorted existence with a selfish, broken old Time Lord. And to watch her weaken with time and to bury her… There was a good reason his companions had to be temporary, even the one who he loved more than all the universes put together. Especially her. Not to mention the fact that he was likely dying.

Her smile twisted into a bitterly triumphant one. “Thought so. Neither of you has ever thought about what I want; _asked_ me what would make me happy.”

Swallowing, he took the bait. “What do you want, Rose?”

“You. I wanted you, Doctor. In whatever form.” She turned her head and looked away. “But I know it’s not really either of your faults; both universes conspired against that, in one way or the other.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say in response. “I’m sorry about the TARDIS coral.”

Nodding, she turned back to him sadly. “Yeah, we tried everything, it seemed to be growing, or at least staying alive, for a couple of years, but he said something about this universe was inhibiting it, was incompatible. When it started to die…it was the last straw, I think, for him. He left before its last moments.”

“I’m…I wish there was something I could do.”

“Yeah. Her, the TARDIS coral’s death must have devastated him; he was always missing a part of himself after you dematerialized. He said it was the bond with your TARDIS. The coral eased the pain a little, but…”

“We can try again, the TARDIS is here now, maybe if we partially grow some coral inside her, it will be strong enough to thrive here, I could—“

Rose shook her head. “He said there was no compatible energy supply in this universe, ‘s why the TARDIS burnt out when we first came here. Even if it was a fully grown TARDIS, it could never sustain itself.”

“Then I’ll take you both back to the prime universe with me,” he said resolutely, already drawing up plans in his head, “We’ll grow another TARDIS for you; if it’s incubated inside mine it will take even less time.”

“Doctor,” she intoned gently, grabbing hold of his wildly gesticulating arm, “it wasn’t just the TARDIS that caused him to leave, and besides, my mum and my baby brother are here, I can’t just leave them.”

“We’ll take them too!” He was excited now, ecstatic at the prospect of making things right, of bringing back a smile to her eyes.

“Ha! Try telling Mum that. She’s happy here, she has a life, committees, money; she would never go back to the council estate.” She squeezed his arm tighter, trying to impress her words him. “Doctor, seriously, you need to listen to me: there isn’t a ‘we’ when it comes to me and the, er, Doctor in blue, for lack of a better name. It’s over and no amount of meddling on your part is going to solve that. I’m sorry things didn’t work out to your master design, but that’s life and you’re going to have to deal with it.”

He looked down at her blankly, refusing to admit defeat when it came to her happiness. “I know myself, and I can—"

“Doctor, please. Please,” she pleaded, “you asked me what I wanted and this is it. Please, just leave it alone, okay?”

Clenching his jaw so tightly his teeth trembled in their sockets, he nodded at her, not meeting her eyes. She released her grip on his arm and pulled him into a hug, resting her head on his upper chest. His head bowed of its own will and his traitorous nose inhaled her scent, highly concentrated at the top of her head. Relaxing into her arms, he dragged his thoughts away from the path his hormones were relentlessly blazing, ignited by the upcoming loss of her presence all over again, and instead basked in their first hug since he’d landed and probably their last.

Pulling back eventually, she looked up at him and smiled, a tiny spark of her old sunshine peeking through. He grinned back in response and puled her back in for a brief but tight hug.

“How soon before you need to leave?” she asked, biting her lip.

He was momentarily distracted by her mouth, but recovered quickly. “Luckily we were just in Cardiff, so…” He quickly communicated with the TARDIS through their bond. “I’ve got about 49 hours before she’ll need refueling. Good thing I installed extra energy storage pods after our first trip here.” Actually, it had been the TARDIS who had insisted on that…

“You’ll stay until then?”

“If you want me to.”

She nodded. He smiled.

Suddenly his eyes lit up. “Do you want to come stay on the TARDIS? Or we could stay here, or I can stay on the TARDIS and you could stay here, or, really, vice versa if you really want.” He was babbling and he knew it, anxious for her to agree.

“You know, I didn’t even get to grab my things the second time I left: I assume my room is still there?”

“I would never jettison that,” he stated in mock affront, crossing his chest. Although it was true. That room was sacred. He’d moved it down into the bowels of the ship next to his room, to keep it safely away from prying companions, but it had remained locked, untouched, as if her essence might escape. As if she could still be inside, just having a rather long lie in.

“Well, come on then, what are we waiting for?”

That was indeed the question, he noted as she excitedly slipped her arm through his and tugged him towards the front door, barely allowing him the chance to grab his jacket and coat and jump into his shoes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNINGS:** miscarriage/abortion.

It turned out that Rose’s flat was only about half a mile from the Powell Estate and where the TARDIS was parked. Flicking a switch on the sonic screwdriver, she squealed with glee when it flickered into sight and he reveled in her transformation from only a few minutes ago. 

After a fair amount of stroking and cooing at the TARDIS, she had disappeared down the corridors to locate her room and take a shower; she’d commented on the way over how much she’d missed its unrivaled water pressure. He silently asked his ship to move her room back to where she would expect it to be and leaned against the console. Eyeing the dematerialization level, he was sorely tempted to leave there and then with her on board. Oops, he daydreamed happily, the walls have closed again, can’t take you back now! 

Instead he filled the time with attempted bioscans, trying to elucidate what was going on with his regeneration and the radiation. The TARDIS refused to output any data however apart from a general impression of reassurance, which he finally decided must have something to do with the parallel universe they were currently inhibiting. He finally gave up and wandered down to one of the smaller wardrobe rooms to change his shirt and tie, spending an inordinate amount of time contemplating which combination Rose would like the best. 

A respectable time later and a quick check with the TARDIS that she was out of the shower and dressed, he knocked on her door.

“Come in!" She was standing in front of her wardrobe, thumbing through the hangers. "Look at these old clothes of mine- what was I thinking?”

He smiled softly, running his fingers nostalgically along a denim dungaree skirt. “I thought you always looked beautiful.”

“For a human, anyway,” she bantered, tongue literally in cheek.

“Right. Grumpy old codger.”

Rose smiled tenderly at the memory. “I was rather fond of that cranky alien.”

“He was more than fond of you too.”

“I know. The, uh, Metacrisis Doctor told me _all_ your secrets…” she said with a smirk.

His eyes widened. “All of them?”

“Mmm, I think so. Like you watching me and Mickey on the video screen in Cardiff; about Nurse Redfern, who I feel awful for by the way—“

“Of course you do.” He smiled, but apology and regret encroached. “Me too.”

“And Jack…” Her eyes lost some of their joking too.

“Bad Wolf too? How I got the vortex out of you?” he asked, surprised.

“Yep. He had to, when…well, anyway, yeah, he told me all about that.”

The Doctor felt the atmosphere change from lighthearted to heavy and tried desperately to get things back on track. “How about when I was poisoned with cyanide whilst trapped in a mansion with a giant wasp?”

She laughed. “Uh huh, that was a great one. He tried telling Tony the story but even he didn’t believe a word.”

“Who’s Tony?” 

“Oh, my baby brother, remember?”

He smiled, pleased to see the light return to her eyes. “Right.” Yep, ‘three months gone’: how could he forget that momentary terror?

“So I guess you’ll have to tell me more recent stories then. What have you been up to since the Crucible? Wait--" She paused, “How long has it been for you?”

Frowning, he tried to calculate, what with his hubris-filled post-Time Lord Victorious phase and his running away from death phase. “About two years, give or take.”

“Oh. It’s been about five years for me.”

“I know,” he said softly. 

“Of course you know. You know my timeline better than your own, it seems.” She didn’t know how right she was in that statement. “So, stories? Anecdotes? The latest inter-galactic, inter-universal gossip?”

“Umm..…” He racked his brain for a non-depressing adventure. “Oh, I met a man who was convinced he was me. It was fabulous, I got to be his companion for awhile.”

She burst out laughing. “I’d love to see that.”

“Mmm. And I may have accidently married Queen Elizabeth the first, I’m not entirely sure of the details, something involving Zygons. Don’t think she’ll hold me to it though.” He considered for a second. “Just in case, I may want to stay clear of Elizabethan England…”

“Maybe you’re one of the mysterious suitors described in the history books.”

He ruffled his hair. “Perhaps. Truthfully, something about it all is a little fishy. Oh well, I’m sure I’ll find out sooner or later.”

“Likely at the most inopportune time, knowing you.”

“Yep!” He popped his ‘p’ with aplomb and gestured toward the hallway. “Are you hungry? I could do us a fry-up.”

“Sure. Let me just finish packing up my souvenirs and I’ll meet you in the galley.” She hesitated. “It’s still in the usual place, right?”

“ _Everything’s_ just as you last found it,” he reassured her.

\---

They spent the entire day on the TARDIS, locating all her favorite spots and exploring new ones, something they'd never quite found the time to do together when she was travelling with him. A tacit truce was in place, the events of the past few years completely ignored, but the Doctor had to keep reminding himself that this was all temporary; more reward than he deserved, certainly, but just that, a transient treat. 

Rose had just excused herself to turn in for the night and the Doctor was heading for the console room when a loud and urgent knock sounded, thumping relentlessly against the TARDIS door. His ship was strangely silent as to the visitor's identity, but there was no doubt in the Doctor’s mind who was pounding with such pathos; he was only surprised he hadn’t felt the man earlier.

He was tempted to just ignore the Metacrisis, maybe even dematerialise to somewhere else in the parallel universe for awhile, but he knew he wouldn’t. Besides, his ship snippily informed him she’d let him in herself if he didn’t open the door soon.

Trudging over to the entryway, he took a deep, steeling breath and slowly cracked open the door. 

“Finally,” an all-too-familiar voice slurred, falling inside since he had clearly been leaning on the door. 

The Doctor sighed and stepped back, giving the Metacrisis room to stand. He stayed on the floor. 

“You’re here!” he cried, pumping his fist wildly in the air and then letting his drop back down at his side. “I could feel her, all the way in Devon. Took me some time to find a taxi willing to drive me all the way out here, let me tell you…”

Looking him up and down with disgust, the Doctor had a sickening flashback to a certain banana daiquiri and tie-around-his-head moment, all too cognisant how ridiculous he must have looked. The Metacrisis wore a goofy grin, but that was the only part of his body that seemed familiar. He was gaunt and slightly yellowed, his jeans and t-shirt hanging off him much as his leather jacket and black jeans had hung off his current body after regeneration. His hair was long and greasy, slicked back and tucked behind his ears, and he looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a couple of weeks. 

His eyes…well, his eyes looked familiar: dead and weary. When he’d left them behind on that beach, the Doctor had noted how young the Metacrisis’ eyes seemed, like he had finally been divested of the centuries of heartache and loss; now, his four-year-old eyes looked older than the full Time Lords’. 

“Get up,” the Doctor ordered disdainfully, wrinkling his nose at the smell of whiskey permeating off his double. To his credit, the Metacrisis tried, but laughingly fell right back down again, finally leaning against the closed door with his legs spread straight in front of him and his head slumped down on his chest. 

The Doctor heard Rose pad down the corridor and groaned.

“Doctor? Did I hear— Oh.” 

Her face rapidly flipped through surprise, confusion, and resignation before arranging into a mask of neutrality. The Metacrisis' eyes followed suit before he closed them against the incoming sensory information. 

"Rose… Should have know you'd be here, in your jimjams no less; expected it, actually. Brilliant, me," he slurred, running his fingers along the grating and keeping his eyes closed. 

The Doctor watched, a little astounded, as she calmly knelt down in from of the drunken half-human and brushed her fingers along his cheek. "Doctor," she whispered soothingly and raised his chin to meet his eyes. He blinked up at her and the full Time Lord forced himself to look away when he spied wetness on the man's cheeks. 

"Doctor?" she called back over her shoulder, this time directed at him, "Is there a guestroom or somewhere I can put him to sleep it off?"

He cleared his throat. "Er, yes, of course, um, here…" He bent over the Metacrisis, ready to haul him to his feet, but she waved him away. 

"I've got it, thanks- can you just pull the sheets back for me?"

Deftly she raised his duplicate to his feet and wrapped her arm around his waist, leading him down the hall while murmuring reassurances and platitudes. The Doctor saw now why she had been so patient and skilled when she had found him on the estate, doubled-over with radiation poisoning. 

Luckily the guest room was the first door they came to and she gently laid him down, already passed out, on the bed the Doctor had speedily un-tucked. Carefully removing the Metacrisis' shoes and socks, she pulled the sheets up over him and motioned the Doctor out of the room, closing the door quietly behind them. 

They stood wordlessly in the corridor for an uncomfortable moment, Rose looking anywhere but at the Doctor and he studying the pattern on his tie with great fascination. 

"He wasn't always like this," she said, quietly, "He…we went through some problems, really bad ones, and—"

"That's no excuse; Rose, he was pissed off his face. He's an alcoholic, he…" He trailed off, unable to express his levels of disgust and protective indignation for her without descending into some rather rough vernacular.

Sighing, she nodded and walked back into the console room, sinking down on the jump seat cross-legged. He followed behind, too keyed up to sit and instead stood in front of her. 

"He's a good man, he tried his best to keep things together for my sake. But things were just so difficult; he was battling the severing of his bond with the TARDIS, most of his Time Lord physiology—he's barely a telepath anymore, his time sense, his endurance—and it was hard, thinking he wasn't much more than a humanized clone with your memories downloaded. I never believed that for a minute, and I think he knew that… He could never convince himself though."

"I'm sorry, Rose, I—"

"Please, don't apologise… You know, that's what his note said: just 'I'm sorry'." She swallowed and looked down for a few seconds. 

"Rose…" He felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.

"I think he could have managed if it was just that, though. We were happy, for awhile, or at least I thought we were. He was always finding some excuse to go on missions for Torchwood, get out of London, even just go for a long run. We did it together; we went to sixteen countries in the first three months alone." 

She took a deep, shaky breath and began picking at her sleeve. "I don't know how much more of this you want to hear, Doctor, how much I really want to share…"

"I want to hear anything you're willing to tell me, Rose."

"I don't really _want_ to ever think about it again, and I'm not entirely sure you deserve to know all this, but I do want you to understand why he's like this, that there's a reason…" She stopped and bit her lip; a lip, he didn't fail to notice, that was shaking.

He slipped his hand around hers and squeezed it lightly. "I _don't_ deserve to know, don't deserve to have you anywhere near me right now. I'm so grateful you are…"

Nodding with tears encroaching in her eyes, she took a deep breath. "We…I got pregnant, about five months after we arrived, and I was so worried how he'd take the news… He was thrilled though, over the moon, and I thought that maybe he was finally adjusting to everything. It was like he had a new lease on life; he was singing in the shower, dancing around in the streets, all the clichés…"

The Doctor forced down the lump that had appeared in his throat; he knew how happy he would be in the same situation, thought it would never, could never happen again.

"But I lost her, at 25 weeks. I was so far along… We'd decorated a nursery for her…"

He tried to wrap his arms around her but she shook them off. 

"That's not it, I mean, obviously it was the most painful thing I had ever experienced, and he was torn up, but we managed, got through it." She closed and opened her eyes slowly. "I was pregnant again not long after, and we were extremely cautious; I quit consulting for Torchwood right away, stayed at home and wrote mostly. But it happened again, right around 25 weeks. A boy. We had been so hopeful; he would sing to my belly and talk to it at night, and…" 

The tears were free flowing now and he was helpless to do anything except root around in his pockets for a tissue, handing it to her silently. 

"Thanks. Anyway he ran tests, on both of us, had to know what was going wrong. Turns out everything was normal about him, he was totally human in that way, two helixes and all that. But me… He said my DNA was mutating, that it was becoming closer in structure to your three strands. Bad Wolf probably, it's hard to be sure." 

She toyed with the now shredded tissue. "He realized that…well, that _your_ DNA was probably the only type now compatible with mine, and that just about killed his fragile sense of self. He'd been trying so hard to be human, preparing for a baby, a human family… Only to discover he was too human. He got it into his head that he wasn't enough for me; I tried to convince him otherwise, but…" She stopped to take a deep breath. 

"It was almost too much, losing the baby and then learning that. He disappeared for days, texted me to make sure I was okay, but otherwise didn't respond to anyone's calls or texts…"

"Oh, Rose—"

"He came back though, he didn't give up, even after all that. But he started drinking, just a glass of wine with dinner at first, but even that was unusual… But then…" 

She closed her mouth, halting the words on her tongue, and wiped her face. "I can't…I'm going to go check on him, make sure he's okay in there." 

He watched her scurry down the corridor and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Matters such as genetic compatibility had never occurred to him when he had left them on Bad Wolf Bay, and he'd barely tested her for after-effects of the Bad Wolf incident. How could he not have sensed molecular changes with the amount of tactile and olfactory input he had been exposed to back then? _Mind on other things_ he reminded himself wryly. 

What's more, he'd ruminated days on end about his regrets regarding Rose, that he'd barely given her a choice, that he'd left without even saying goodbye… But not once, not even for the briefest of instants had he gave a thought to the Metacrisis other than with pangs of jealousy and bitterness at his existence. For the first time, he put himself in his duplicate's converses not in terms of his ability to watch her fall asleep every night, but in a philosophical, psychological, neurobiological sense. 

He liked to believe that he would have been stronger, able to endure the doubt and loss that seemed to follow their time in this universe, but truthfully he wasn't wholly confident. 

His hyper-acute ears heard her quietly close the guest room door and plod slowly down the corridor towards him. She stood in the doorframe, watching him for a moment and he held her gaze.

"Rose, we can talk tomorrow, if you want. You must be exhausted." She looked shattered, but he wisely kept mum about that.

"No, I just want to finish, I'll probably never tell you if I don't do it now." She leaned against the entryway and he walked over to stand in front of her, tentatively taking one of her hands in his. It was limp, but she didn't pull away, her lips turning up almost infinitesimally in thanks.

"Um, so after he came back, things were tense but ultimately okay. He became increasingly distant but I chalked it up to a defense mechanism to the loss of the baby, hoped it would pass… I didn't realise the distance was also partially self-medication on his part, that when I thought he was just being quiet that he was actually on his forth glass of wine..." She cleared her throat and picked at her nails. 

"I discovered I was pregnant again, obviously on accident, and it broke him completely. We knew it could never come to term. There was no choice but to abort it," she choked out. "After that, he was afraid to even touch me, struggled to look me in the eye. I found him passed out in pub alleyways, thrown out for fighting, in a heap outside the door to our flat once… He disappeared for days on end too, numerous times; I'm still not sure where he went. He realized the coral was dying soon after. And that was it; one day I woke up to an empty closet and a post-it note."

She exhaled shakily and he ignored her feeble protests and gathered her into his arms. 

"Rose, if I'd know…"

"I know. It's not your fault, it's no one's fault. Just crappy luck." She drew back and fixed a serious expression at him, "So, please, don't you blame him either. I don't, okay? It still hurts, but I don't think it could have ended up any other way. Not in this univ—lifetime."

Wordlessly he nodded and enfolded her closely again. Knowing his verbal apologies were useless and unwanted, he focused instead on proprioceptive supplication, squeezing her tightly to convey his regret and empathy and desperately trying to buffet her from all the pain, if only for a few minutes.

She only allowed herself the comfort of his arms for a few seconds though before she stepped back, running her hand through her hair. "I _am_ exhausted," she admitted, "I'll see you in the morning, Doctor."

"Good night, Rose. Thank you for telling me all that; I know it wasn't easy." He tucked a strand of errant hair behind her ears as he spoke.

She only hummed vaguely in response as she turned to drag herself down the corridor. He watched her slow, almost-but-not-quite defeated steps with a tightness in his chest, resolving to make this better, somehow, for his favourite human. Favourite entity, really. 

Just before she turned the corner out of sight, he made another resolution. 

"Rose!" he called out down the hall. She turned, a weary expression on her face.

"Do you want company? Er, I mean, like before…" They had regularly taken comfort in each other's beds after the more harrowing adventures before she was originally trapped on the parallel universe, always completely chaste of course, but he knew it was one of her favourite things about their close friendship back then; knew he enjoyed it even more than she did. 

Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head sadly. "I don't think that would be a good idea…I mean, what if he," she nodded at the guest room door, "walked in? I don't want to hurt him. He already thinks…"

The Doctor nodded with a lump in his throat. "No, I understand, I wouldn't want that either. What if, um, I just stayed until you fell asleep? No pressure, I just know it's been a rough day, and…"

After a beat she nodded slowly, silent tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. 

"Hey," he intoned gently, walking forward to brush the tears off her face, "no more of that. We'll sort it out tomorrow, okay?" He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and led her down the hall, pulling her closer as they walked. She molded her body limply around his and he carved circles into her arm with his thumb.

Releasing her at her bedroom door, she half-stumbled right into bed, pulling the covers up almost over her eyes and turning away from the door. Only hesitating for a second, he shed his jacket and shoes before crawling in behind her. She groped over her back for his hand and he gladly gave it, curling up behind her and holding on tightly. Well, this wasn't _exactly_ like past times, he observed with a smile, a smile that brushed the back of her neck through her hair and elicited a shiver in his former companion. 

His body began to respond to her closeness, her softness, but he dampened it down immediately, instead stroking her hair soothingly. Gradually he felt her muscles relaxing and her breathing deepen, finally drifting off to sleep. 

He held on to her for about half an hour after she feel asleep, rationalising that he didn't want to disturb her early phases of sleep even though he could sense the delta waves almost immediately being emitted by her slumbering brain. Reluctantly, he eventually loosened his grip, dropping a kiss on the back of her head before releasing her and sliding out from under the covers. Her door was almost closed behind him when he remembered his shoes and jacket, quietly sneaking back into retrieve them before heading back to the console room for some meditative tinkering.


	4. Chapter 4

Rose was still asleep when the TARDIS informed him that the Metacrisis had been awake for some time. Rubbing his eyes, the Doctor considered his options. He probably shouldn't be alone with the man, even if he no longer felt like throwing the man to ravenous wolves. He stopped to consider. Well, maybe not ravenous wolves, but he couldn't quite shake the impulse to punch his duplicate, regardless of what he'd been through; he certainly had no problem with self-flagellation, what was a little right hook amongst his bodies? No different than socking a past incarnation, really…

Sighing, he squelched that, admittedly gratifying, train of thought; there was no doubt in his mind that the Metacrisis had punished himself far worse than he could ever do. He knew himself well enough, after all. 

To buy time, he wandered down the hall to Rose's room, cracking open the door to check on her. Sound asleep. Brilliant. With no excuses left, he plodded the long way to the guest room.

He didn't bother knocking, but did give the man the consideration to at least open the door slowly. The Metacrisis was standing with his back to the door, both hands splayed on the walls and head bent as if in supplication. He didn't move when the Doctor stepped inside, but he knew his double was aware of his presence. Closing his eyes, he tentatively nudged at the other Doctor's mental walls but the man only grimaced and lowered his head further.

"I can feel you're there, I just can't do anything about it. You're nothing more than a tickle." The Metacrisis' tone was steady but broken.

The Doctor tried to swallow but failed. He remembered the feeling of all the other Time Lords vanishing from his mind after the Time War and couldn't even imagine the pain of having nothing there at all. It was such an intrinsic component of his being, even if it was so rarely used anymore. "How about now?" He sent out a stronger knock, slipping between the gaping barrier holes as he would when connecting with a human, but he was met with the mental image of a thick wooden door. He quickly retreated. 

"Don't. It hurts too much." He remained facing the wall, his eyes closed.

"The TARDIS…?" he ventured, apprehensively.

"Only if I'm touching her; even then it's weak. Like I'm feeling the bond diluted through an ocean of water."

The Doctor couldn't suppress a shudder. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. And entirely your fault, I guess."

"Right." He was at a loss for words. The Metacrisis finally turned around, keeping one hand planted on the wall. Almost gasping at the pain housed in his gaze, the Doctor instinctively took a step back. They stared at each other for an eternal minute. 

"It was an accident, me being here. I never would have chosen this."

"Oh, I have no doubt of that, Doctor," he sneered.

"She's only here for a visit before I go, packing up some of her things." He wasn't sure why he was defending himself, only confident that Rose wouldn't want the man to suffer because of a misunderstanding.

"Take her back with you," the Metacrisis ordered, his voice deadened.

"She won't," he admitted, "I offered to take you both back and she refused."

"I'm staying here," his double growled, "but she should be with you. Please…"

The Doctor exhaled deeply but didn't respond. Finally, he took a step forward, closing the door behind him. "I absorbed 500,00 rads of nuclear radiation. I'm dying, and for some reason the regeneration process isn't working." From the look in the Metacrisis' eyes, he knew he understood the implications of his words. "She doesn't know."

He nodded, a funny look flitting across his face before he looked away. "Looks like nothing's going well for any of us, then.

Sighing, the Doctor shrugged. "Take a shower; shave," he suggested. "You look like hell. She'll be awake soon."

"I'll be gone before she—"

"Don’t you dare," the Doctor snarled, stepping forward in anger. "You _will_ be here and you _will_ talk to her. Isn't it enough that _I_ left her without a goodbye? Bloody post-it note…"

Setting his jaw, the Metacrisis looked ready to fight and the Doctor automatically clenched his fists in preparation, but just as suddenly the other Doctor deflated. "Fine," he bit out, swiftly turning and walking into the ensuite, locking the door. 

\---

By the time Rose emerged that morning, the Metacrisis had dressed and joined his Time Lord counterpart under the console, throwing himself into the comforting routine of soldering loose wires like his sanity depended on it. They worked together synchronously, handing each other the necessary tools and silently gesturing to overlooked circuitry components. Not a word passed between them. 

The Doctor was the first to notice her presence, greatly aided by the buzzing of his ship in his mind, but the Metacrisis looked up almost immediately after. She was a vision, her hair still rumpled from sleep and her eyes still slightly bleary. Still dressed in her white ribbed vest top and striped pajama bottoms, the only concession she had made to the morning was her untied grey dressing gown. The Doctor felt his breath catch and heard his double do the same.

To their mutual surprise, a slight smile, almost a smirk, graced her lips as she stood watching them. "Doctors," she quipped nervously.

Although the Metacrisis had helped himself to one of his many suits, the Doctor knew she would have no problem distinguishing between the two of them now, even without his double's skeletal frame and sallow eyes. With long-legged strides, she went straight to the other Doctor and engulfed him a tight hug, one that he reciprocated after only a few seconds hesitation. 

Stepping back to give them space, the Doctor watched her step back and tenderly run her fingers along his jaw as the Metacrisis closed his eyes and hunched his head forward like an errant child. It wasn't heated or sexually charged; it was comfort, the sharing of sorrow, a manifestation of love in its purest form. 

Slowly, the Doctor backed away from the display, feeling lonelier, emptier than he had possibly felt in his entire life, but Rose caught sight of his movement and lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Where are you going?" she asked, furrowing her brows. 

"Just…" He shrugged, edging slowly toward the corridor, his eyes averted. Stunted at portraying or discussing his own emotions in the first place, he was even less adept at knowing what to do when other people began to do so, especially as an outside observer who had no business being there. Especially when one half of said emotional party was the woman he loved.

"Stay," she cajoled, stepping back only slightly from the Metacrisis. 

Of course he was incapable of denying her anything. He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded once but didn't move any closer. She turned back to the Metacrisis briefly, taking his hand and squeezing it before dropping it again. 

Biting her lip, she broke the quiet after only a few seconds. "I think awkward times like this call for tea, wouldn't you think?"

It wasn't clear exactly who she was addressing, both of them probably, and indeed both Doctors nodded simultaneously. As she led the way to the galley, they both followed behind, and the Doctor was struck by the metaphor. They'd both follow her to the end of the universe, he reflected, but then winced as he realized the folly of that assertion; both had wanted to but both had deliberately and spinelessly given her up, 'for her greater good'. The Metacrisis saw his face contorting and momentarily closed his eyes wretchedly in instant comprehension. He'd probably been contemplating the exact same thing, come to think of it. Same man. 

Once inside the galley, the Doctor busied himself filling the kettle and grabbing mugs. He was efficient enough that the other two attempted to help but finally gave up and sat down opposite each other at the small square table in the nook. 

Rose fiddled with the napkin holder. "When did you get back?" she asked, softly. 

"I'm not, I…I heard the TARDIS. I'm teaching at Exeter." The Metacrisis began unscrewing the salt shaker and fiddling with its contents.

"Oh." 

"Rose, I…You should know I stopped…drinking, that is, I never wanted you to see me like that again. I heard the TARDIS but couldn't find her at first, and it hurt so much…" He shot a glance at the Time Lord in the corner who was trying to appear absorbed in measuring out the sugar rather than holding back a snort: number one rule, the Doctor lies. "I shouldn't have, please, Rose, forgive me…"

"I know," she whispered, "I do. I'm glad you've stopped, I worried about you…"

The Doctor gaped in awe at the depth of her compassion and trust; even after all she'd been through. Even when she recounted their problems, she had brushed over her own feelings, focusing only on his torments, so eager for him to think well of the Metacrisis, despite it all. Neither of them deserved her, that was for certain, and the fact that she kept extending her generosity and kindness toward them was only proof of that. 

The Metacrisis nodded, maintaining her gaze long enough that the Doctor found himself beginning to believe the man's sincerity too. With a dramatic flourish, he set the mugs of tea in front of their respective drinkers. The other Doctor looked up in surprise when he saw that the Doctor had given him his customary, _their_ customary mug, his eyebrows raising ever further when he saw his tea was black, just as he liked it.

"Thanks," he mumbled off-handedly, but the Doctor could read his own facial expression enough to see the man was chuffed. 

The three of them sipped their tea in silence, both Doctors ricocheting their eyes from the top of their mugs to Rose and back again. Rose, for her part, kept her eyes on the tea cradled in her hands.

"The TARDIS needs to refuel before tomorrow?" the Metacrisis asked, tiredly, after a few minutes. He abandoned his still almost-full teacup turned to the pepper grinder, intently examining its mechanics.

"Yup. She's got enough stored energy for another 24 hours or so, but if we don't leave before then, she won't be able to make the journey."

Silence fell again.

The Metacrisis fixed an inscrutable gaze on the Doctor, his hands still twisting the screw mechanism. "What about the, er, background radiation instability in the, uh, data core?"

The Doctor sighed, knowing his other self was referencing the radiation poisoning and scrutinized his folded hands. "I don't know. It might sort itself out in the other universe; otherwise, um, yeah, nothing to do about it..." He frowned and met the Metacrisis' eye, "Do you need parts or anything? There's probably a spare sonic in one of the storage bays, or—"

"No."

He quirked his eyebrows. "Are you sure? I can't imagine being without—"

"There's no reason to have it here."

"You can come back with me," he tried. 

"No."

Frustration and desperation to help rose in his chest, "Are you sure? I can take you both back, I can take everyone; Jackie, Pete, Tony… anyone."

Rose looked up from her tea finally. "Stop, Doctor. I can't speak for him," she bit out, nodding at the other Doctor, "but I've already told you that they all have a life here. And I can't leave them again, not when… Besides, what would we all do? Just start again in the other universe's London? What difference would that make?"

 _Stay with me, stay with me_ his mind pleaded, but the dying Time Lord only flattened his lips and looked down. "There must be something I can do," he mumbled despondently. 

Resolutely, he looked up again, catching the Metacrisis' eye. "Take the TARDIS."

Rose’s eyes shot up in shock but the other Doctor only grimaced, longing flashing through his eyes. "I wouldn't be able to pilot her. No time sense."

He was floored by the realisation, knew how much it had cost the Metacrisis to even admit that aloud. "Maybe the TARDIS can compensate, or we could fly her together, or—"

His double shook his head slowly, glanced over at Rose, who had hunched back over her empty cup, and subtly gesticulated toward the door. "A word?" he mouthed at the Doctor and pocketed the pepper grinder's internal gears.

The Doctor jumped up, "I—I just remembered, I had set the temporal gyrometer to calibrate and didn't turn it off… Doctor, will you help? Rose, we'll just be a minute. Welll, when I say a minute…"

Without looking back at her, they both scurried out of the galley and ducked into a far alcove. The Metacrisis leaned against a strut, his arms crossed. He didn't say anything and the Doctor tapped his foot impatiently.

"Well?"

"You’re not the only one at death’s door," he blurted out, scratching vigorously at his arm and avoiding the Doctor’s eye. 

"What? What?" He froze.

"I'm not teaching, I'm an inpatient at Exeter's university hospital. Cancer. I found out a couple of years ago, right around the time she lost the second—I wasn’t supposed to last this long. I, I didn't want her to know back then, I don't want her to know now." He emitted a hoarse, sardonic laugh, "Ironically enough, I suspect it was from void radiation while this weak little body was still new and vulnerable. I guess radiation's taking both of us. Fitting."

The Doctor's eyes roved wildly around the space, calculating. "That's no problem for more modern medicine, we'll just make a trip to New Earth or something; fix it right up."

"Too late for that. It's completely pervasive. Metastasised Metacrisis, that's me." He rolled the words along his tongue, mildly pleased with their cadence. "When I felt the TARDIS, I hoped you could take her back, give her some sort of chance at happiness. She told you about the miscarriages, I imagine. But now…"

"Doctor…" he whispered, his hearts clenched in a vice. He started to reach out awkwardly to console his double but he rapidly stepped back.

"Don't. I didn't tell you for your pity. I told you so that you would stop trying to 'help' me, especially in front of Rose. Or your pathetic fix-it schemes; I think I can confidently say I know you well enough… I wasn’t enough for her, this pathetic human body wasn't… It’s over now; there’s nothing you can do about it."

"But…"

"Stop. And don't you dare tell her. She's been through enough; don't make me force another ending on her." With that, he turned an unnecessary 360 degrees on his heal and strode back to the galley. 

“You act like you’re doing her a favour,” he hissed at his retreating double, “but you’re just terrified of saying goodbye.” The Metacrisis flinched but didn’t falter in his pace.

The Doctor was still for a minute before he finally trudged behind, his mind reeling with anger at the multiverse. Anger at his counterpart too, if he was honest, for keeping this from Rose, for running away instead of letting her in. Acting aloof, above it all, ‘always okay’ was no way to solve a problem, only made it worse in the end when it inevitably blew up. Or ate away at him until he was the empty shadow of the man he saw turning into the galley, walking with the weight of the universe on his shoulders, even without the power to do anything about it. Or the man he saw everyday in the mirror.

He also knew he probably would have done the same thing the Metacrisis had, indeed was doing it at this very moment. He didn't like seeing it from the other side. 

At all.

Squaring his shoulders, he picked up his pace and marched into the galley. The Metacrisis was already seated, calmly running his fingers along the edge of his untouched tea mug. His body was almost imperceptivity angled away from Rose and the hand not holding his mug was beating in mordents and trills under the table. 

"Rose, I need to tell you something." He stood in front of her, his hands hanging down at his sides, his fingers twitching for the safety of his pockets but denied their impulse. 

The Metacrisis’ finger tapping rhythm faltered, disintegrating into harsh staccatos. 

"Okay…" she responded warily. Her eyes flickered between the two men, one of whom was avoiding her gaze, the other shifting his weight nervously between his feet. "But if this is some sort of hare-brained scheme, I don't want to hear it." 

"It's not. It's—well…" He sat down but stood right back up, instead pacing along the length of the dining area. "So there was this prophesy that my time was up, that when I heard four knocks, that would be it—you probably remember that," he said, glancing at the Metacrisis who stiffly pursed his lips. “I thought my time was up when the Master returned—“ The other Doctor looked up sharply. “Yeah, remind me to tell you about that- Rassilon too… Actually, maybe not, not exactly a happy ending, as things go… The status quo has been restored, in any case…” The Metacrisis nodded but his eyes glazed over in rumination. 

"Anyway, well, I heard the knocks—Donna's grandfather, actually, imagine that—and, well, let’s just I ended up absorbing a lethal dose of radiation.” 

He chanced a look at Rose, who had clasped a hand over her mouth. “That’s why you were in so much pain when I first saw you?” He nodded. “But, Doctor, are you alright now? You said lethal… Wait, did you regenerate into the same body?”

His mouth opened but then he paused, considering that possibility. “Always with the good questions, Rose Tyler," he said warmly, "but no, I don’t think so. Frankly I’m not entirely sure what is happening; I can feel the radiation still as well as the autron—er, the regeneration energy. It’s there, in full force, but it’s not doing anything; keeping my body in homeostasis I expect.”

“But what does that mean?” she implored, gripping her mug so tightly that the Metacrisis was compelled to gently pry it from her grasp. Her hands scrambled for purchase on her thighs, her knees, finally clasping together in her lap.

“I don’t know. It’s never happened before. But,” he tarried to carefully choose his words, shifting back on forth on his heels, “it might not be good. Best I can guess is that I’ve used up all my regenerations.”

“You have a limited number of regenerations?” she exclaimed, “I thought…but…how many?”

He was completely unsurprised that his double hadn't mentioned that fact. “I’m not immortal. We usually only get 12 regenerations; 13 bodies. The Time Lord Council could grant more, could take some away…”

“But this is only your tenth body…”

“Wellll, tenth conventional body. There have been others…” He shot a glance at the Metacrisis who looked away. “I didn’t think I’d used them all up; thought for sure I had one left. But I guess not.” He took a long breath, exhaling it slowly before standing still. 

“But what does that mean?” she repeated, worrying her lip between her teeth, “What happens now?”

“Everything has its time, Rose.”

He could see she was fighting to hold back tears; for all his philosophical platitudes he didn’t feel much differently himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you, but…” he shot a look at his counterpart, “it didn’t seem fair to keep it from you either.”

She sat numbly for a few seconds and then rigidly stood up, having to clutch at the seat edge for support, and wordlessly walked out of the galley. Her back was straight and her neck erect. 

“See? That was cruel and pointless,” the Metacrisis scorned as she passed out of sight, pushing back his chair and crossing his arms. “She never had to know, and now she’s in pain because of you.”

“You don’t give her enough credit. Always running, always alright… I bet if you knew she was terminally ill you would keep it from her until her last breath, just to avoid dealing with the negative emotions.”

“You know we would,” he retorted, scowling petulantly and toying with the edge of his seat. 

“No, you’re right,” the Doctor admitted, “or, at least, you were right. But not anymore. No more.” His last words were directed more to himself than at the Metacrisis, and with them he strode out the door without a backward glance.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW**

He sought her out in all the usual spots: her room, the library, even the main swimming pool, but she wasn't anywhere to be found. The TARDIS steadfastly refused to help matters, citing her request to be left alone, but he disregarded that sentiment. He'd left her alone quite enough times, thank you very much.

Circling back around, she was still MIA so he began looking in the more unusual locations on his ship, a weighty task. He spent an hour poking his head into little-used rooms; he'd forgotten about that zero-gravity room… He should tell her about it later…no, wait, there was no later; before admitting a temporary defeat. He made for his bedroom, one of the few stones he'd left unturned since she had never been there, probably didn't even know it existed. All the same, he felt the dopamine and adrenaline rise as he pushed open the door and glanced around. Nope.

Sighing, he went to the smaller of his in-built closets to change his rumbled shirt, unbuttoning the cuffs as he walked. He was completely unprepared for the human girl folded up inside, her head on her knees, and felt his left heart skip a beat.

"Rose?" he gasped, his brain fuzzy from the noradrenaline and cortisol surging through his nervous system. She didn't say anything, instead drawing her legs closer to her chest.

"Oh, Rose, I was looking for you, I…" For all his searching, he hadn't once considered what he wanted to say to her, what he possibly _could_ tell her. Lie and tell her that he was probably mistaken? Tell her it would be okay, when it wouldn't?

Instead he crawled into the closet after her, mirroring her scrunched up position and closing the door. They sat in somber silence for a few minutes, their knees knocking together in the darkness.

"I'm being selfish," she sniffed at long last.

"How?" he asked gently.

"I'm making it about me when you're the one dying."

"It's always about you," he whispered, his breath hitching, "Ever since 'run', you've been the centre of the Doctor's universe. Whichever universe you happen to be in, whatever body I happen to be in."

Shifting his gaze to utilize his superior motion-sensitive and light-sensitive rods in his peripheral vision, he saw her silently crumple her face and shake her head.

"It's still true, you know. He looks at you the same way…"

"It doesn't matter," she whispered shakily.

"Yes, it does. You are so loved, so cherished, Rose, I—"

"And look, here we are talking about me again."

"Rose—"

"Really, please… I'm not the one dying." He could hear her trying to regulate her voice unsuccessfully.

"I've had 900 plus years, it's more than time. But I couldn't bear it if you're so unhappy, I don't want you to…"

"Tough," she muttered, shifting herself on the carpet.

"Do…do you want to talk about it? Your, um, feelings?"

Even without his enhanced visual capabilities he could tell she was gaping at him in disbelief. "My feelings?! Tell you what, you tell me yours and I'll tell you mine." There was a hint of resentment mixed in with the incredulity of her words.

"Okay," he said good-naturedly, almost hearing her eyebrows hitting the closet ceiling. Rolling his eyes upward, he considered the state of his emotions. Putting words to them, well, that neurocircuitry was rather rusty…

"Honestly, I haven't really processed it; I've been rather distracted by my favorite human." He could just about make out her weak smile. "I spent so much time running from that prophesy, but barely stopped to consider it was literal, was fearful enough of just regenerating. Look what happened last time…"

"On Satellite Five?"

"No, after the Dalek got me, when I'd just set eyes on you again… I didn't want to lose you, jealously wanted you to myself with these eyes, not new ones… Serves me and my hubris right, to have lost you forever because of it…"

"You didn't _lose_ me, Doctor, you decided to leave me behind."

"I was wrong; I was so wrong, Rose. You, that... It's my biggest regret."

"You wouldn't change it though," she muttered, pulling her knees closer to her chin.

With a click and a groan, something shifted in his very core. He _would_ change things, given the impossible option.

"I was scared, earlier, when you asked me that in your flat, but… I’ve changed my mind.” He swallowed, glad her human eyes could see even less than his in the darkness. "I would have held on to you so tightly, Rose Tyler; I would have never let you go."

"Until I withered and died," she said bitterly under her breath.

"Until then. It would kill me, I'm not sure I could've recovered, honestly. But, Rose, you need to know: I'd go through that a thousand times to have you with me for even one more day."

The air crackled around them as she relaxed her turgid positioning, her knees brushing along his again. She leaned forward, putting a hand on each of his kneecaps.

"What about the other Doctor?" she asked softly, her thumbs tracing idle circles on his inner-knees.

"The other Doctor…?" he murmured, a fog of hormones and pheromones and neuropeptides disrupting efficient neural firing. "Oh!" he comprehended finally, shaking his head as if that would slough off the haze, "The other Doctor, yes. Well, I shouldn't have made any decisions for him, and in my idealised do-over, I wouldn't either."

He edged forward, covering her hands with his. "He could figure it out himself," he intoned in a deeper pitch than he was expecting. Her hands rotated until their palms were touching, fingers entwined. "Or we could figure it out together…"

"Doctor?" Her hands began slowly sliding down his raised knees toward his thighs and he felt her use his legs as leverage to sit up to a kneeling position.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, but it came out more as a squeak.

She stepped toward him on her knees, parting his own knees slightly for access and keeping her hands on his upper leg. He dazedly flattened his legs against the floor; his legs were long enough that his feet were almost flat against the wall Rose had been leaning against. It floated through his mind that he would be able to see her better if he shifted his gaze slightly off center, but he was unable to disengage his gaze from where her eyes would be.

He felt her hands abandon his legs to brush along his hips and up to his shoulders and then down his arms, encircling his wrists at the end of their journey. Her breath was heavy and irregular, and she kept moving forward until her hips were flush against his abdomen. He whimpered lightly when her breasts briefly brushed against his lips, feeling the blood in his brain swiftly being diverted south.

Dopamine's drumbeat became faster, more desperate, but when he tried to raise his hands to clutch her closer, he found her hands were quite unwilling to release his. Ever the genius, he tugged his captured wrists downward, causing her to fall forward into his lap, albeit a bit awkwardly.

Moaning lightly as her soft centre came in contact with his hardness, she quickly moved her legs to either side of his, sinking down onto his lap and rocking her hips forward roughly.

"Rose…" he moaned, appalled that his breathing had taken on a panting quality. "You have to stop—" he groaned as released his hands and gripped his waist, "—you know we shouldn't…"

She froze only for a second before he felt a pair of warm, wet lips at his throat, open and lightly sucking. His hips bucked involuntarily into her warmth in response and he felt his eyes snap shut.

"Please, Rose, I, um…" He was distracted from his weak protestations when she moved her lips up to suck behind his ear. "Mmm," he moaned, "Rose, it's not that I don't want to do this; I really, really want to do this, really, really…" He punctuated his words with light thrusts, his hands moving to plant themselves on his hips. She immediately went limp against him, distracted momentarily from her lips’ quest to unravel his consciousness, and he fought to keep his line of thought from scattering.

"But Rose, he loves you, he…"

Recovering slightly and stilling, she cupped his face. "I'll always love him; nothing I can do about that. But too much has happened, too much time has passed. He and I, we tried, but we're both aware it's over."

"Still, we shouldn't—"

She hovered her lips over his ear, effectively cutting him off. "I told you: I'm being selfish. It’s been awhile. It would only be polite for you to be selfish too; I think the multi-verse owes us that much, at least."

He hesitated. "Please," she whispered pleadingly, desperately.

His last strand of restraint snapped. "Ah, well, I'm nothing if not congenial," he conceded, ghosting his fingers up and down her ribcage, smirking when she shivered in response.

"You? Mr. Rude-and-not-ginger?" she bantered, her light words undermined by her heavy breathing.

"I think that you are about to experience just how _complaisant_ I can be," he murmured and speedily lowered her to the floor and hovered above her, both their knees folded cumbersomely in the cramped closet.

He held himself still to bask in the warmth radiating from her body underneath his, and she squirmed at the almost complete loss of tactile contact. "Rose Tyler, do you know that I have never kissed you? At least not in your right mind."

"You'd better go ahead and rectify that, Time Lord". His arousal ratcheted up at the growl in her voice.

"But then again," he whispered huskily, leaning closer but still far enough away that she couldn't reach him. "I'm relatively sure—" He lowered himself onto his elbows. "—that you won't be in your right mind in a second either. Nor I."

With that, his lips captured hers, a moan passing between their lips’ union, its origin unknown. He spared little precious time on the gentle, tentative first act, plunging instead to the desperate, low-lip biting exposition. The moan emitted this time was indisputably her and he took the advantage of the parting of her lips to begin his tongue’s conquest. His offensive raid was met with a paucity of defense, his victory march enthusiastically attended. As his tongue began to survey the spoils of war, her patently subversive hands snuck up his biceps and into his hair, tugging him closer as they raked through the long strands. Her fingers felt like heaven; her mouth tasted of home.

Their bodies were suddenly too far apart. He lowered his hips so their torsos were flush against each other and she squeezed his legs between her own but it still wasn’t enough. Frustrated and needing skin contact, he shifted his weight onto one elbow, still interlocked with her lips, and tugged at his tie but it remained steadfastly knotted. Impatiently abandoning that course of action, he redirected his hand to toy with the hem of her vest top.

He couldn’t see enough to gauge her permission so he reluctantly released her lips. “Is this okay?” he panted, sliding his fingertips ever so slightly under the seam of her top, brushing along her hot skin.

To his one-track mind’s chagrin, she breathily laughed and started to pull herself up and he snatched his fingers away.

“No, I mean, yes,” she assured him quickly, a smile in her voice, “but do you want to move somewhere out of this closet?”

His hearts started beating again. “Nope,” he mumbled, slipping his fingers back under her top and splaying them contentedly along her bare waist. “Happy here.” He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck.

Giggling again, she sank back down and arched up into him, but then incomprehensively reached underneath herself. He stared at her in foggy confusion; no, he was up here; move your hand back up to _me_ , his racing thoughts pled. Unless she was reaching down to take off her pajama bottoms. Then he was very much on board.

“No, I mean—“ She held a white converse shoe from under her; that, he was willing to see in his periphery. “I’m lying on all your shoes.”

Comprehension dawned. Deftly and determinedly he lifted her up with one arm and jettisoned the shoes out of the closet with the other, closing the door firmly behind them. He reconsidered, then, and opened the door just a crack so light peeked in. “There,” he said, triumphantly, and lay her back down to recommence their previous course of action. “Alright?” he murmured in her ear before procuring it with his teeth.

“Oh, yes,” she quoted cheekily and he pulled back to grin at her. His eyes were captured, of all things, by her nose and he was overwhelmed with a desire to bite down. So he did, lightly nipping at it, delighting at the responding giggle. Now there was a sound he had sorely missed, hadn’t heard from her in a very long time.

“Is that some sort of Time Lord erogenous zone I was unaware of?” she asked, her eyes playful and her tongue poking out between her teeth.

He leant over to suck on said tongue. “Nope, just for me. On you.” His attention was captured by the feeling of her fingertips brushing up along his spine and he shivered. He became aware, all at once, of how impractical his tightly-fitting trousers were.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” she laughed but he could hear her words becoming shaky, see her eyes darkening.

“What doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled in between light nips down her neck, “is clothes. Never before have I been so disgusted with the concept of clothing.” Reaching her sternum, he rested his lips between the pillows of her breasts and closed his eyes in satisfaction, thanking the non-existent deities for low-cut vest tops.

Clearly she felt the same way about their layers of attire because her felt her hand snake under the back of his suit jacket and tug his shirt out from the confines of his trousers. She scowled in frustration when her fingers were met with his Henley instead of bare skin and he thought to warn her of his t-shirt as well but was distracted by the sheen of a moisture droplet edging down her chest and between the valley of her breasts. Taking chase immediately, he followed its trail with his tongue and pushed the straps of her top down her arms for better access.

Her hand finally navigated past his layers and met the skin on his back, pulling him down closer. With his mouth he shoved aside the lace of her bra and circled a nipple with his tongue, spiraling inward until he met its tip and then lowered his mouth over it, sucking the engorged areole with a contented hum. The vibrations of his lips caused her to sharply buck up into him and dig her nails into his back and he found his pelvis rocking right back in response on a zealous quest for friction.

“Rose…” he groaned out, shifting again to lean his weight on one arm and peeling her vest top over her head in one frenzied movement. His hand roved frantically across the soft, warm skin of her stomach and waist, his fingers tiptoeing up to cup her other breast through the fabric of her bra, and it wasn’t enough. With another movement the offending bra was unclasped and flung against the closet door. It bounced back onto his arm but he disregarded it in favor of sitting up. She whimpered at the loss of contact but watched him, enraptured, as he ripped at the buttons of his shirt with all the zeal of a man on a mission, several buttons popping right off in his desperation. In his blind lust the tie knot continued to stymie his trembling fingers and she sat up to help.

Sidetracked once again by the bare skin of her neck, he leaned in while she was working to suck at one particularly tantalizing patch, biting down hard enough to leave a mark and quickly laving it with his tongue.

“Doctor—mmm—you… Just stay still so I get this fucking tie off,” she finally ordered, exasperated. That particular swear word had the exact opposite effect, however, as he growled with arousal and moved to press his lips to the upper swell of her breast, completely trapping her hands between their bodies.

“Doct—oh…” She surrendered, closing her eyes and moaning. Her moan galvanised some practical part of his brain, albeit a single-minded one, and he disengaged from her long enough to shrug off both his shirt and jacket together, loosening the tie enough to slip it over his head. One more lift of his elbow to grip his Henley and t-shirt from behind, they were off too and he was finally free to feel her skin-to-skin against himself.

The both groaned at the sensation of her taut nipples against the sparse hair on his chest and he reached between their bodies to tug at the crotch of his trousers. Why hadn’t he though to make this part trans-dimensional too, he wondered and groaned again. With a quick, hesitant glance at his eyes, she slowly reached down to cup his rock-hard length through the fabric, gently running her fingers down the bulge and squeezing lightly. He saw stars, bright yellow spots of color pulsing through his vision.

“Rose,” he practically sobbed, snatching her hand before she could pull it away and held it there. His hand above hers, he stroked up and down and his hips responded with vigour. Good…that was…good.

He could see her eyes were wide and knew he had to check, one more time, if this was really what she wanted, before they reached the point of no return. Wellll, maybe not no return, but doubtlessly an extremely painful return.

“Sure?” he just managed to force out.

She moved to fully straddle his lap, rocking into him and gripping the hair on the back of his head firmly. Her other hand reached up and ghosted along his hairline and down his jaw. “Please, Doctor...”

Both hands on her hips, he raised her up onto her knees again so he could plunge his hands under the cotton of her waistband and stroke the skin of her arse, squeezing the warm flesh the way he’d dreamt about countless nights. She unbuttoned carefully unzipped his trousers, wasting no time in gingerly pulling them down to avoid jarring his now painful erection.

In the dim light he knew she couldn’t see him well and debated whether or not to even bring it up, but knew he couldn’t conscionably avoid it. He was holding nothing back from her; in this state he couldn't hold anything back.

“Rose, um, I don’t know…er, this is an extremely awkward question to ask…right now…but the Metacrisis: was he, um, totally human down there?”

He felt her stiffen up minutely in his arms and regretted having to bring up such a sensitive subject while they were doing…this. It wasn’t as if discussing her past sexual experiences with his duplicate was amative for him either…

“He’s totally human physically, you know that,” she said quietly, “why?”

In response he silently took her hand and brought it slowly to the dorsal base of his throbbing cock, willing himself not to shudder at the touch.

She sucked in a breath. “What’s…that?” she gasped, feeling the small protrusion. About an inch long, it stood out half-erect above but attached to his member.

“Time Lord physiology, it’s more voluntary than the rest… It’s an evolutionary adaptation, it…you’ll like it, I promise, I just didn’t want to surprise you…”

A light of recognition and understanding suddenly graced her eyes. “Oh! It’s like on a dildo,” she blurted out and then blushed.

“It can be dis-engorged if you want…” he offered, his thumb caressing the dip between her shoulder blade and her neck.

“No!” she cried and then giggled, “I mean, I wasn’t expecting it, yeah, but, um, I can imagine it being very…useful…”

Bloody hell, he loved this woman; adventurous and undaunted even in the face of alien anatomy. So he told her so, burying his lips in her hair. “I love you,” he whispered, awestruck.

He felt her breathing become faster and shallower again and hastily tugged down her pajama bottoms and knickers in one motion. His trousers were still around his knees and he gracelessly wiggled around to remove them completely while she did the same. Completely naked, finally, they stood on their knees facing each other for a few seconds before he hungrily launched his lips onto hers, electricity buzzing around the tiny enclosed space.

“Doctor, please,” she whimpered against his lips.

The dying man had plans; intricate and detailed plans involving many, many more hours of slow, tender foreplay and exploration, but it all dissipated with her plea.

 _An hundred years should go to praise_  
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;  
Two hundred to adore each breast;  
But thirty thousand to the rest;  
An age at least to every part,  
And the last age should show your heart

For the first time he fully understood the human preoccupation with death, with Freud's thanatophobia, with Neitzche's angst and Schopenhauer's depression. He had reminded Rose that he wasn't immortal but he had never lived his life as if it were finite. Now he was Heidegger's 'being-toward-death' and he coveted the possibility of impossibility, was drawn toward the extinguishing flame like a moth yearning to burn.

_But at my back I always hear  
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near _

Continuing to pillage her mouth with his tongue, wildly searching every crevice as if it they might disappear, he calculated practicalities. He was completely unwilling to detach from his Rose for even the distance to his bed, so they would just have to work within the confines of the small closet. Indeed, being cloistered away here was more than a turn-on, as if death and the entire multi-verse could pass them by without dinting the doors.

One hand on a hip to steady her, he slowly ran the fingers of his other hand down her chest, taking a quick detour along her breasts to toy with her stiff peaks before continuing south. He felt her abdominal muscles clench involuntarily as he trailed down the downy hair around her belly button, scraping his nails lightly as he went. When he got to the tangle of curls below her pelvic bone, he paused to savour the moment.

“Doctor!” she growled, arching her hips to seek his fingers where she wanted them most. He only hummed and after a few moments his fingers continued on slide along the join between her thigh and mons. A mewl and then a frustrated whine came out of her mouth before she pulled away from his lips and attached her lips to his neck.

He continued circling his fingers around her sex, not yet touching, as she sank her teeth hard into his neck; he almost lost himself in that moment. Finally, he parted her folds.

“Oh, Rose,” he exhaled, forgetting how to breathe, “you’re so wet…” She only growled again and roughly raked her nails up his back.

“I need you,” she begged, “please, Doctor, I’ve needed you for so long, please…”

The time for tarrying was over. Their heavy breathing began to synchronise as he manipulated their bodies so they were facing and straddling each other in a sitting position, her hips in between his, her legs scissored on either side of his legs. His bent knees cradled her torso.

Slowly he reached between their entangled bodies and positioned his throbbing cock at her warm entrance. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, encasing him within her heat in one swift move.

She gasped and her breathing sped up, reaching her arms around her knees and to his back to hold him still.

“Okay?” he panted, struggling to control himself enough to not just shoot off there and then. She was so warm and tight and her pelvic muscles were already constricting around him.

“Yeah,” she said hoarsely, trying to control her raspy breathing, “you’re just bigger that I expected, just…give me a second…”

The testosterone of male pride flared up even as he regretted the pain he had caused, leaning forward to kiss her as gently and non-desperately as he could muster. Her eyes were squeezed shut and he moved his lips upward, tracing light kisses along her eyelids as he waited for her to adjust to his size. Deciding that he didn’t want to overwhelm her with too much all at once, he redirected blood away from the upper appendage so that it was small and soft.

Eventually she opened her eyes, gazing at him with such intertwined love and lust that he almost closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions they generated. Rocking her hips forward in permission to start moving, he sighed in relief and began moving slowly within her.

Their position, essentially a straddled hug, didn’t allow for much range of motion, but the penetration was so deep that even shallow pulses sent waves of needy pleasure up his spine. From her breathy moans and nails at his back he could tell it was having the same effect on her. But after a few minutes they both needed less tenderness and more friction and he gently untangled her arms from around him and pushed her torso back to rest on her elbows between his spread legs. With his hands gripping her waist for purchase, he increased the power of his hips’ thrusts, beginning with slow steady movements that quickly accelerated into more shallow, frantic ones. He knew that at this angle each thrust was hitting her g-spot, not just from his extensive knowledge of human biology and anatomy but from the way she whimpered and quivered in his arms.

“Oh, fuck, Doctor…”

She was getting close already and he moved a hand to her clitoris, tweaking it between his fingers before rubbing wet circles around the engorged tip.

“Come for me, Rose,” he whispered and two thrusts later she fell apart in his arms with a gasp and limply collapsed onto her back. He stilled his movements, still hard inside her pulsing walls, to watch her in wonder. Her cheeks and breasts were flushed, her breathing shallow but slowing, and there was a sheen of sweat across her body. He smoothed back a damp tendril of hair and felt her shake beneath him.

Sliding carefully out of her, he hovered over her prone body and pressed kisses of idolatry across her face. She lazily followed his movements with glazed eyes, responding greedily when her lips closed over hers. Sliding her hands down the side of his body, she grasped his buttocks and gave them a firm squeeze.

“Always wanted to do that,” she said in a slightly dreamy voice, her eyes not quite focused yet.

“You have my permission to do that anytime,” he replied huskily, his hands cupping a breast in each hand before nuzzling his face between them. “Okay to keep going?” he asked.

Her smile illuminated the dark closet and he moved to enter her again but the space in the closet didn’t allow for him to be in the more dominant position he needed.

“Rose?”

“Mmm?” she mumbled, her mouth busy biting the cartilage around his ear.

“I think…mmm, that’s—oh, that’s good … Bed?” he finally spit out.

Her breath was hot at his ear, “Yes. Now, Time Lord”.

In one fell swoop she was in his arms and he was kicking open the closet door, his eyes ravenously taking in the naked woman kissing his shoulder in the bright light. He halted in the middle of the room and stared. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in veneration.

She blushed but adopted a stern expression and pointed to the large canopied bed. “Bed,” she ordered.

“Your wish is my command,” he pontificated grandly, recovering somewhat. With a grin, he threw her on to the bed and watched with a smirk as she and her breasts bounced up and down at the bumpy landing. Closing his eyes for a second, he mentally changed the telepathic password to his room, just in case, and enacted soundproofing. His smirk turned predatory then and he crawled on the bed after until he was hovering above her. Her eyes were dilated and she met his gaze with such a smoldering expression that he almost came there and then.

She reached down and stroked him languorously; he shuddered with desire. Her fingers moved curiously up to the flaccid appendage on top.

“Can you use it this time?” she asked quietly, hesitant. It was already coming to life under her ministrations, growing thicker and more turgid.

“It’s called a penile apex, and yes, oh, yes we can.” His voice was high-pitched and shaky.

A slow smile spread across her face, “Thanks.”

“No thanks necessary,” he noted in a squeak as she continued to stroke his it, “I mean, trust me when I say the sensations that come from both parts together… There’s a reason it’s called an apex; it means pinnacle, cusp, sublimity, climax…”

“It makes it better?” she asked, a sad expression flashing in her eyes for a millisecond. He’d explore that later; it didn’t seem conducive to the current events, in any case. Instead he just nodded and bent down to kiss it better.

She lined him up with her entrance and he slid into her, slowly this time to give her time to adjust. His caution was unnecessary, unwanted, however, as she was impatiently rolling her hips up against him almost immediately. Once he was fully sheathed he let out a sigh of intense relief and then wiggled his hips a little against her. She gasped: his apex was angled just right to hit her clitoris with each thrust and when he rotated himself within her, it rubbed with just the right amount of pressure. Grinning, he began to move in long, deep strokes with a slight twist at the end of each thrust.

She moaned his name like a prayer and met each thrust for a while, but her rhythm became erratic as she rapidly plummeted toward orgasm. He was close too; centuries of celibacy might partially account for that, but it was more undeniably his heart's desire moaning under him. His thrusts became faster, harder, and his former silence gave way to babble.

“I love you, Oh, Rose, I love you. I’ve loved you since I was all ears, since ‘better with two’, you have to know, he, I, we, and then you thought I didn’t dance and I was so jealous of Jack and… I was useless without you, I don’t know how you became part of my whole… Fuck, you’re so tight and I wish you could feel how good…Rose, oh, I love you, I adore you, I worship you, I’m besotted, I…”

Rose, for her part, took up the mantle of silence save for moans and occasional loud intakes of breath. The intensity of her climax would be colossal from the way the buildup just kept climbing and already she was writhing in sublime agony from its sheer strength.

He slowed down, changing to long deep strokes; he wasn’t ready for this to end; wasn’t sure if he’d ever be willing…

Rose roared in frustration, “Doctor, please!” she pleaded, “I can’t…please, let me come, please!”

Every stroke was sending bolts of electricity through her body that he could almost feel and he clamped down on a breast, twirling the nipple around his mouth with his tongue. He felt like he was in free fall, like he was on the first big drop of a roller coaster and he didn’t think he’d ever make it to the bottom; like his body couldn’t possible survive another second intact. Slow was no longer an option; he sped up, pistoning into her so deeply and uncontrollably he felt himself bump against her cervix once. With the modicum of reason he possessed, he raised himself higher up onto his arms until he was almost doing a push-up above her and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Two strokes at the new angle did it for her; at the third stroke she emitted such a loud scream that he covered her mouth with his to swallow it. Her body shook so hard it almost vibrated and that sensation coupled with the sharp, prolonged contractions of her pelvic muscles around him sent him over the edge as well.

No longer strapped in and enslaved to g-forces, he was ejected out of the roller coaster car and catapulted through the sky, only dimly aware of the physiological responses, his shaft pulsing inside her, over the feeling of euphoria and love and warmth and tenderness and release. Release, oh, release…

_I praise what is truly alive,  
what longs to be burned to death._

_…and finally, insane for the light,  
you are the butterfly and you are gone. _

As he descended slowly back to full waking consciousness, he became aware of Rose sobbing beneath him, hyperventilating and struggling to take the deep breaths she needed with a heavy Time Lord collapsed on top of her. His arms were too shaky to lift himself off her and he instead rolled over, pulling her on top of his chest. He had softened inside her but was loathe to sever their connection just yet. He bent his knees and wrapped his legs around hers, tracing soothing circles across her bare back with one hand and stroking her hair with the other while he waited for her to calm down.

Anxiety flared up when several minutes passed and she was no closer to calming. "I'm sorry, it was too much wasn't it? I shouldn't have…Rose, do you regret…?"

She shook her head briefly and buried her face back into his chest. "It's not that," she whispered and instigated an erratic and needy pressing her of lips across his shoulder.

He stopped her by lifting her chin to meet his gaze, "What then?"

Shutting her eyes, she took a deep, ragged breath. "That…that was unbelievable—" A tiny smirk drew his lips up and he couldn't resist a satisfied wiggle of his hips that she mirrored back with a watery smile. "—but Doctor, you're _dying,_ I can't… I can't lose you again, _again,_ especially now that you've…we've…" The temporarily abated tears reasserted themselves behind her closed eyes, streaming down her cheeks.

His abdominal muscles clenched as he pulled his face to hers, kissing the tracks of her sadness. "I know… Rose, I would do anything, _anything_ to fix this; I'd trade the universe to stay in this bed, with you, for just one more hour, a day, a year. Oh, it would never be enough."

"How much time do you think you have?" she whispered.

"That's the problem, I have no idea. My body is stuck in some sort of limbo, stasis, but it could end at any second."

"All too human, now, huh?" she wondered, tangling her fingers in his chest hair. "We all have to live like every minute could be our last; everything is uncertain."

"And yet I'm finding out how liberating it is," he said huskily as her fingers began exploring his chest with more purpose, "to see the end, to know it's coming: it's like I'm free to feel instead of think, to _do_ instead of worrying about what might happen." He found her lips and blissfully sucked on her lower lip, the urgency gone and replaced with quietude and contentment.

She rested her heavy head against his chest again. "If I sleep, will you still be here when I wake up?"

"I promise," he murmured, kissing the top of her head and snuggling into her embrace. As his eyes closed to the rhythm of her steady breathing against his chest, he marveled at the feeling of her body, warm and still connected in every possible physical way to his, and wondered how the Metacrisis could have given up something as sweet as this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verses are Marvell and von Goethe


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NSFW** for the first half

The Doctor was half-asleep when he heard the sharp rap at his bedroom door followed by the doorknob jiggling. Some choice Gallifryean curse words muttered in an exasperated tone floated to his ears but he just nuzzled into the soft warm body lying limply atop him. The soft, warm, naked body. Wait. 

His brain was just starting to put the pieces together when he heard his own voice call through the door. 

“Doctor?”

Well, that just about dumped the puzzle box to the floor… Slowly though, as he heard retreating footsteps, the sated Time Lord recalled the circumstances of his nap. A slow grin spread up his lips and into his eyes as he gazed at the exquisite creature sleeping on his chest. It wasn’t a dream; it was so much better than a dream. Her head was nestled in the crook of his shoulder, one hand splayed across his chest and the arm other tucked between his side and his arm, the palm of her hand cupping his hipbone.

He had never been more content in all his lives.

Gently he bent his head to press his lips into her hair, inhaling deeply. He felt his groin begin to stir and realised he was still inside her. 

Strike that: _now_ he had never been more content.

Her breath became irregular and she began wiggling into his chest as if he was a mattress, trying to burrow further down, her bare legs stroking up and down his legs almost rhythmically. He was now completely hard inside her, aching to move. 

Rolling so they were on their sides facing each other, he wrapped his arms tighter around her and peppered kisses around her lips and along her jaw line. Dozily she rutted her hips against his, moaning when the base and apex of his shaft brushed against her bundle of nerves. Her eyes snapped open and then slowly closed again with a smile when she saw his face. 

“You _are_ here,” she mumbled and nuzzled closer into his chest, draping an arm across his waist. He shifted his body down hers so their faces and pelvises were in line and ducked in to kiss her. Her hips responded almost straightaway, spasaming forward once before relaxing into a languid rocking. 

“I promised, didn’t I?” He understood her attachment anxiety: versions of himself appeared prone to abandonment… 

She sighed blithely and he began to match her hips’ rocking with lazy thrusts of his own. His arm snaked under hers to cup her bum, driving her deeper onto himself. Their earlier joining had been frantic, frenzied, but this was calm and loving, laying wrapped up together in his lush sheets with simulated sun streaming in the through the simulated window.

Dopamine’s march of need soon escalated their tender lovemaking and she lifted her leg up and over his hip to change the angle and provide him better access. Moaning lightly against her lips, he shifted his weight so that he was now cradled between her legs, his arms braced around her head and their bodies still facing each other on their sides. He pulled her lower leg to join her other one wrapped around his lower back, her ankles hooking together, and she matched her legs’ wrapped position with her arms around his torso. From this angle she could control the pace and depth of his movements and with each inward thrust she squeezed her legs together to deepen the penetration. 

Her orgasm was gentle, a shudder of release rather than an explosion, and he followed in kind a few strokes later. Jellified, her limbs fell from around his torso back into the bed but she held his gaze with such a look of loving contentment he knew instantly that would be the image burned onto his retina at his death. And suddenly he was that little bit less fearful of the end; if his memory of this moment was to be his last, it technically could never end, would be frozen eternally in the his brain's final firing pattern.

Melancholy must have flitted across his features though, despite his brave thoughts, because her expression shifted from serene to wistful. He shook his head, silently pleading to keep the metaphorical closet door closed against reality. Reality was unrelenting however and he felt himself slipping out of her for the first time in hours. He fought back, irrationally and hopelessly, but the amount of built-up seminal fluid by this time was quite significant and there simply was not enough space for them both.

Before he slid out completely, he managed to wrangle a tissue from the bedside table and held it under her hips to catch the frankly copious volume of semen that oozed out. Sure he was blushing, he gently cleaned her up as she watched, amused at his detail and diligence. And domestics. Blimely, was this domestic… Thought patterns of his previous self floated through his mind and he almost laughed; he certainly hadn't meant this type of domestics, would have worn an apron and hoovered the TARDIS daily if that body could partake in this kind of domestics with the beautiful blonde currently curled up in his bed. 

Sighing happily, he curled up behind her; his chest snuggled into her back, and pressed his lips into her neck. The damp tendrils on the nape were beginning to curl and he twirled them lazily with his finger while his other hand drew her even closer and splayed across her stomach. 

Without thinking, his fingers began tracing circles along her tight abdomen, trailing lower and lower until he cupped the feminine swell of flesh below her navel. His thumbs had just resumed their kneading when she suddenly tensed up his arms and sucked in a deep breath. 

"I don't suppose there's any chance your so-called superior physiology was shooting blanks back there?" Her words were carefully chosen to be light and playful but all he could hear was the fear and worry. 

Cortisol's panic flooded his bloodstream for a second and he struggled to keep his body relaxed against her back. He should have remembered what she'd told him, about their possible genetic compatibility: the last thing he wanted to do to saddle her, alone, with a part-Gallifryean baby on top of everything else. His DNA was usually incompatible with anyone but his own species, with few exceptions, so it had been a long time since he'd had to think about such matters. Besides, it wasn't like he made a habit of sleeping with _anyone_ , much less having to think about employing his biological mechanism for dry ejaculation. He wasn't sure he'd ever utilised that trick, actually: how did it even work, again? He was sure they'd covered that at some point in the Academy… Maybe not. They should have, the uptight prudes…

The panicked thoughts kept cycling through his mind, half-formed and chaotic, until he finally speared one useful fact. His hypersensitive gustatory and olfactory systems: he'd always been able to predict when she was pre-menstrual, an extremely useful piece of information, from the sharp decline in her progesterone and estradiol levels.

Sniffing deeply into the nape of her neck, and taking a quick lick of the damp skin for good measure, he closed his eyes to analyse the exuding ovarian hormone levels in her sweat. With inter-individual variability in hormone levels, he normally wouldn't be able to tell much except in the ratio between hormonal components, but since he had the longitudinal data stored away from several years ago, he was able to extrapolate. 

Sighing in relief, he pulled her closer and buried his face in the downy hairs of her neck. "Not to worry, you're pre-ovulation by several days. Not much chance of fertilization. Even if we really are compatible, which is unlikely: Time Lord spermatozoa is rather picky…"

"You and your pillow talk," she noted in an amused voice but he could tell she was relieved. 

"Mmm," he replied, distracted. "Rose, will you let me examine you in the infirmary? I'd feel better if we knew why your DNA—"

"Nope," she interrupted but didn't elaborate.

He pushed up on his elbow to see her face. "Why not?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. "I don't need to know. In any case, the other Doctor was thorough enough; my DNA is splitting into triplicate."

"But maybe I can figure out why, what it means…" he pleaded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. 

"He said it would mean a slightly longer lifespan since the splitting refreshed the telomeres or something like that. And the baby thing. He wasn't worried otherwise and I trust him."

"I could test that; the genetic compatibility… If it is the case, I could, er, leave a, um, sample, in case you want children down the line. It's my fault, Rose, let me at least give you choices…"

"I never just wanted a baby, Doctor; I wanted to raise a child with the man I love. Without you…" she halted, choked up. "I'd rather spend my time with you," she whispered and clutched his hand over her heart, "before you go."

The Doctor lay back down behind her, defeated, and closed his eyes into her warm skin. "Anything," he murmured as he attached his lips to the back of her neck and made paths down her spine. 

After a minute she rolled over so they were face-to-face and tenderly cupped his cheek. "But we can't stay here all day. Much as I'd like to… The other Doctor, he's still here right?"

Grimacing, he closed his eyes to communicate with the TARDIS as to the Metacrisis' location. "Well, he's not in the wine cellar, that's good news anyw—" 

"Don't," she warned, rolling away from him. "Don't make him into a joke." 

"Sorry," he apologized hastily, "he's not exactly my favourite person right now. Especially his mention while you're in my bed, naked and delicious…." He reached out for her to draw her near again but she edged further away and hoisted the sheet around her chest.

"We may not be together anymore, but I told you; I still love him, he's still you, Doctor."

"I know. You know, though, he was really only me for an instant: the second we started having different experiences we stopped being the same. We're all a product of our experiences…"

"An alternate version of you, but still you."

"I know," he sighed again, "and you're right, of course you are. I'm just jealous. But I guess we shouldn't leave him wandering the TARDIS forever…"

She ran her fingers back and forth along the seam of the sheet, staring into the distance. "He's going to know we slept together, huh?"

"Probably," he said in a sober tone, "He won't bring it up though, if that makes you feel any better."

"How do you…oh." She bit her lip and played with one of her rings. "Masters of avoidance, you both are…"

"I'm trying, Rose."

She smiled and leaned over to kiss him, a quick peck on the lips. "I've noticed. Thanks." Standing, she dropped the sheet and he stared. "I'm going to shower," she said and casually ran a finger between her breasts, her eyes sweeping up and down his body. "I think you could use one too."

He was in the ensuite before she took another step, turning on the water. "I _am_ feeling quite dirty," he lilted, waggling his eyebrows at her groan.

\---

Squeaky clean (there may have been quite a few rinse-repeat cycles), the Doctor redressed slowly, feeling restless. Restless from jealousy, restless from anxiety, restless from missing her touch. All of the above. 

Rose had left to talk to the Metacrisis on her own; she had insisted, knowing that walking in together would only add to the pain she was about to inflict on him. He had to admire her loyalty and never-ending empathy even in the face of such an uncomfortable situation; she was braver than he'd ever be. He knew his duplicate would know exactly where they had disappeared for several hours, even if he couldn't have heard anything from behind the soundproofing of his former bedroom. Probably didn't even know that they were there when he had knocked an hour ago. 

The Doctor was, despite the conflict in his hearts, pleased the man hadn't snuck away in the interim though and knew that at their core, they both had her best interests at heart, however misguided at times. 

He fiddled, unseeing, with the gadgets littering his bedside table before giving up and mentally asking the TARDIS if he could go find her yet. Nope. Groaning, he resorted to tidying his room, even stripping the sheets and remaking the bed much to his ship's hilarity. There were only so many things he could do in this room, he complained to himself. Well, only so many things he could do alone. Well… 

Finally the TARDIS gave him the go-ahead and he made his way to the library when he knew they hadn't strayed thanks to his sentient ship. He was dreading this confrontation with his duplicate, well aware of the tension and testosterone that would pervade the space, but truthfully he was also a little giddy at the thought of seeing Rose again. It had been a long 20 minutes. 

Turning the corner, his hearts twisted in agony when he saw them facing each other on the couch, their foreheads pressed together, and he forced himself to continue breathing and not act like the green-eyed prat he could feel fighting to be unleashed. Quietly stepping closer, he saw evidence of dried tears on both their cheeks and his hearts twisted again; this time, however, it was in empathic pain and it was an immediate antagonist to the possessive neurotransmitters.

Still, he floundered in the doorway, uncomfortable about intruding on their achingly poignant moment but also knowing it would be just as awkward to just stand and gawk. He thought to clear his throat to announce his presence but worried it might appear possessive or arrogant; he could just walk over to the couch and plop down, but no, that would be irreverent… 

The Metacrisis solved his dilemma by turning his head slowly and deliberately, catching the full Time Lord's eye. They stared at each other for what seemed like aeons, communicating more effectively with their gaze than they ever would have done in words. Sharp, tight protectiveness and adulation was at the core of both their expressions, but it quickly softened into a mélange of sorrow, regret, resignation for the Metacrisis, these emotions mirrored in the Doctor's eyes but with a patina of promise. The duplicate Doctor broke their stare first, dropping his eyes to the floor in submission but the Doctor forced eye contact again with a sharp prod at the man's mental barriers. Once their eyes were interlocked once more, the Doctor lowered his gaze, bowing his head forward. 

Rose was the first to break the long silence. "He wants to leave, Doctor," she said, catching his eye for the first time, "Tell him to stay a little longer; we can do a farewell trip maybe…"

The other Doctor shook his head. "No, I really need to get back," he said quietly and then looked over at the Doctor meaningfully, "I have several appointments, and frankly if I miss them things will fall apart."

He hadn't noticed before, underneath the heartache written across his double's face, but there was physical pain there too that the man was desperately trying to mask. His fists were clenched and listening for a moment, the Doctor sucked in a shallow breath at his single heart's weak and irregular rhythm, the slight wheezing of his lungs. How long had it been since he’d had access to pain medication, whatever else he was being administered at the university hospital?

He swallowed the lump that appeared in his throat and his hearts throbbed at the thought of this broken man quietly suffering a train ride back to Devon and dying alone in some sterile hospital bed of an oncology wing. 

"Please," he pleaded with a croak, "please, just—"

"No," the Metacrisis snapped and tried to raise himself to his feet but failed, his legs collapsing under his emaciated frame. He pressed his chin to his chest, eyes closed in pain, when Rose worriedly caught his arm. "No, I'm—I'm alright, just…" Clenching his jaw determinedly, he managed to haul himself to his feet but the Doctor didn't miss his slight panting once he was up. 

Turning to Rose, he smiled weakly at her concerned expression. "I'm fine." He paused, licking his lips. "I'll see you around, Rose Tyler," he intoned with a catch in his voice and stiffly made to walk out the door before she could reply but the Doctor swiftly blocked his path.

"Move," he growled but the Doctor stood his ground. He reached out and gripped his duplicate's shoulder firmly but snatched it back in horror when the other Doctor grimaced in pain. 

"That's it- no more bloody stoicism," the Doctor hissed, "you're going nowhere but the infirmary right now."

"Already did," he mumbled in a low voice so Rose couldn't hear, "I know should just accept it, let this sorry existence fade back into the darkness, but I guess I'm just too human; thanatophobia is more noxious than any of the other drugs they pump into me."

"And?"

"And even the monitor wept for me, alright?" he ground out. The Doctor herded him down the hall, sparing a backward glance at Rose who was still sitting, frozen, on the couch.

"You're acting like a scared child," the Doctor accused him once they were out of earshot, "Stay here, with friends. Don't spend your last precious moments—"

"Friends?" he spat, "Could you really sit here and watch if it were me with Rose, holding hands, simpering at each other, knowing that every time we disappear for more than a couple of minutes that I'm probably fucking her?"

The Doctor hung his head. "No. Not at all. But—"

"No, thank you. I'd rather die alone than watch that." His face softened infinitesimally, "Go, spend your last few days or hours with her; gather ye rosebuds while ye may…"

"Old Time is still-a-flying…" the Time Lord finished in a strained whisper. 

They held each other's desolate gaze for a few seconds before the human Doctor broke away to to study his hands. "We were happy, you know. For awhile, everything was…" He looked up to catch the Time Lord's eye again. "I don't regret it, being created, all the ensuing pain and loss… Because I had her: I was literally born and I will literally die for her. And I would go through it all again just to relive one of those hours we had together, a single minute..."

The Doctor could hear the TARDIS in his mind desperately trying to communicate something but it was garbled in its urgency. Shaking his head, resolving to his ship to follow up in a second, he reached out to gently take his counterpart's hand. He tried to snatch it away but he was too slow and the Doctor saw the mottling of the man's hands; blue and purple. 

"Doctor…" he breathed, unable to keep his eyes off the hand he had firmly gripped by the wrist.

"I'm aware," the Metacrisis said coldly, looking away.

"You can't go out there, you can't travel... I can…let me take you back. In the TARDIS. She has enough energy, she…"

Shakily the human pushed himself off the wall where he'd been slumped. "Give me some dignity at the end. Don't stop me again." He stormed out of the room in the direction of the console room and his final exit, back and neck held excruciatingly rigid. 

The Doctor watched his counterpart, his third heart, his brother walk away for a second before dashing back to the library. "Rose! You have to… Please, he's leaving, quick; go hug him before he goes, please…"

"He said his good-bye, Doctor," she said in a resigned tone, but stood at the frenzied tone in his voice.

"No he didn't – not properly, anyway. Go- run!"

A perplexed expression on her face, she nonetheless broke out into a sprint toward the front of the TARDIS and he followed behind. 

When they finally made it to the console room, they looked around frantically but it appeared they had been too slow. Until they stepped behind the console to discover the other Doctor, collapsed in in an unconscious heap on the grating.

 

\---  
A/n: Quote from Herrick


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNINGS** : Medically explicit death

“Doctor!” Rose screamed and hurriedly knelt down at the unconscious man’s body, rolling him over onto his back. 

“Doctor! He’s barely breathing, please, do something!” she said urgently, checking the pulse at his throat and glancing back at the stricken Time Lord. 

The Doctor sprang finally into action, wasting no more time in scooping the Metacrisis off the grating. He almost gasped aloud at the weightlessness of the man, the prominence of his ribs jabbing into his chest as he ran for the infirmary. He couldn't have weighed more than Rose, possibly even less. As he sprinted down the corridor he also took in the sharp angles of his double's face, the sunken hollowness of his cheeks and temples. His skin was cool to the touch, icier than his own, even, and his weak breathing was punctuated by gasps and periods of apnea. How could he have thought this was the simple unkempt appearance of a drunkard when he'd first come aboard earlier? How could he have even made it here, hid his pain so well since then?The mottling of his hands had cued him in the corridor but it was all but certain now; this man was displaying all the physiological manifestations of end-stage, imminent death. 

Rose was right at his heels when he got to the infirmary. "Rose, quickly, grab a duvet from that cupboard over there, two, actually." She had them in a flash, her eyes darting wildly between the pallid form of the Metacrisis and the Doctor. "Fluff them up as much as possible and spread them on top of the examination table," he instructed, still cradling the dying man in his arms and using his foot to wheel out the cardiac equipment in the corner.

"Like this?" she asked breathlessly once she was done. 

"Good. I'm going to lie him down and I want you to make sure the duvet supports his hips and shoulders, in between his knees."

He placed the Metacrisis as gently as possible on the makeshift bed to avoid jarring his surely aching joints. 

"What's wrong with him?" Rose demanded shakily, bunching up the down feathers around the other Doctor's body. 

"Here," he deflected, instead handing her several electrode stickers, "place these on his chest, two on either side of his heart and the rest leading in a trail down his left chest almost to his armpit; there's a diagram on the back of the sticker sheet."

She started to follow his instructions without hesitation, but froze and gasped, a subtle gagging sound escaping out her throat when she unbuttoned his oxford and lifted the t-shirt underneath. "Doctor, look!" she breathed, panicked. His skeletal chest was covered in angry blue and purple bruising and puffy edema and red erythema had spread across the bony cavities. 

"What is that?" she cried, beginning to back away instinctually before steeling herself with a long blink. 

"I need to get this EKG set up, Rose; I'll know more then." He didn't need it, really, just needed to keep her occupied from a full-scale panic attack while he ran the full-body scan diagnostics; he could easily detect the tachycardia with his ears alone, the dysregulated hypertension and hypotension across his duplicate's vascular system. 

With trembling hands she picked up the sheet of electrodes she had dropped on the floor and began peeling them off. "Is this all from drinking?" she quietly asked as she worked. He saw her clenching her jaw at the placement of each electrode as the flesh sunk into wrinkled dimples from the fluid buildup with each touch of her fingers but she kept going, undeterred from her task.

"No." He didn’t elaborate.

"Then what? He was fine, just a couple of minutes ago!"

"He was masking his pain from you." 

He leant over the results and slowly closed his eyes, his head dropping forward. "Actually, Rose, stop. I don't need the EKG after all," he said robotically.

"Why? Did you…what's wrong with him?"

He rummaged through the closet for a pillow and placed gently it under his double's head and then fiddled with the table reclining switch, raising his head slightly above his body. There was a heavy blanket in a drawer under the table and he draped it above the man's body. He turned off the medical scanners and monitors.

"Doctor?" she probed, alarmed. "What is it? Is he okay?"

At that moment he spasmed on the table, his arms and legs shuddering wildly and his head thrown back. It lasted only a few seconds, repeated, and then stopped. 

"Myoclonic jerk," he muttered, adjusting the pillow under the limp man's head from where it had been jarred during the seizure. He reached over to the counter to procure the syringe of strong pain medication he had prepared and injected it into the Metacrisis' hypotonic arm. 

She grabbed his arm. "Doctor! Please, tell me what's the matter with him!"

He sighed and met her eye. "He has end-stage non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma; it's an extremely aggressive cancer of the blood." His words were deceptively soft and calm but he had to take a moment before he could continue. "I think…He doesn't have much time left. Minutes, even; once the seizures start…"

There was no time for her to even process his words before the Metacrisis opened his eyes, blinking slowly in confusion. 

"Rose?" he slurred, struggling to swallow but giving up. "Oh Rose, my Rose…"

She remained frozen behind him. 

"She's gone," the duplicate Doctor mumbled despairingly, his words indistinct and tripping over each other, "It's my fault. And the TARDIS; she's screaming…"

Rose took one step, then another toward the bed until she was in his line of vision. A smile of such unadulterated bliss struggled its way up his face when he caught sight of her that the Doctor couldn't breathe for a moment past the lump in his throat. Turning away but still watching them out of the corner of his eye, the Time Lord clumsily fiddled with the various surgical instruments on the counter by the sink, shoving his hands into his pockets when the tools kept slipping out of his fingers.

She took his hand, squeezing her lips together in a failed attempt to control the tears that were running down her face as she noticed the mottling. 

"Rose…" he murmured, a trembling child desperately seeking comfort in his final minutes.

His eyes rolled over to the Doctor, trying to be inconspicuous in the corner. "A poor life this, if full of care, we have no time to stop and stare," he painstakingly enunciated, closing his eyes with relief when he finished the quote.

“Yes,” the Doctor whispered, his voice catching.

“Doctor,” Rose choked out, “why didn’t you tell me? I could have been with you…”

“It is toward evening, and the day is far spent,” the human man mumbled, his eyes turning glassy and unfocused, the muscles of his eyelids refusing to contract and close his eyes.

“It’s not evening yet,” she pleaded, “don’t worry, he can fix this, he can—“

“Rose, he’s in terminal delirium,” the Doctor said, his voice soft. “He’s probably having problems communicating right now. But he can understand you, your words. Just…sit with him, hold his hand.” 

“But you can help, right?” She looked at him so beseechingly, so full of trust and hope that he had to break her gaze and look down at his feet. 

“It’s too late. I’m sorry, there’s nothing anyone can do.” The TARDIS nudged urgently at his mind but he shut her out, unable to contend with his own grief at the moment.

“But why didn’t he say?" she wept, “I could have been there, I would have… This is why he left, isn’t it?” she realized suddenly, “Why? I loved him, I…”

“He thought it would be too painful, Rose.”

“I could have handled it,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Painful for him, too,” the Doctor admitted sadly, “self-sacrifice and avoidance of pain…it’s a terrifying combination.”

She didn’t say anything else, just brushed the dying Doctor’s fingers to her lips and gently rested her head on his chest. Violent sobs shook her body but she was silent. Silent as death, silent as a tomb, silent as the grave.

In the depth of his despair, he almost laughed sardonically as he lifted his hand to brush away his own tears and saw regeneration energy flicker, just for a moment, in his fingertips. _Not_ a good time, he thought hysterically, his inner disbelieving laugh transmuting into a more disconnected hyperventilation of a sound. He heard a ringing in his ear, or maybe a clanging, and white spots commenced a death march on his vision. 

"I don't want to go," one of the two dying Doctors mumbled from the table, his words garbled and only half-conscious. 

The TARDIS abruptly forced herself into his mind with the subtlety of a rampaging bull, crashing through his barriers and flooding his mind with light and impressions of information. Behind her determination wasn't sorrow or pain, like he had anticipated when he'd shut her out, but instead frustration and—was that pleading hope? He tried to assimilate the information. The moment he understood what she was trying so desperately to convey, he almost choked on the air in his lungs. 

_What?_

He darted over to the computer and ran several simultaneous terraform and atmospheric analyses as well as another full body scan of himself. The monitor beeped with the results; exactly as the TARDIS had told him. 

"Doctor!" Rose screamed behind him, "He stopped breathing!"

Suddenly it was all laid out in front of him, as clear as day. The radiation poisoning he was supposedly dying from: it wasn't that the regeneration energy still surging through his blood wasn't working, but rather that it didn't need to. This parallel universe had a higher density of hydrogen atoms in its atmosphere, not enough to make any difference to the life forms but enough that neutron radiation had different properties, was less toxic due to the higher hydrogen shielding. That was why had had ceased to feel the pain of the radiation poisoning shortly after stepping foot outside the TARDIS: the radiation had been greatly neutralized and his natural healing abilities were doing the rest of the work. The scan had revealed that the radiation was already 37% dissipated from his body just from those 12 hours or so he'd spent with Rose outside and in her flat. 

Two choices, two timelines floated in his mind's eye. The first option was for him to return back to his rightful universe where the radiation would become toxic once more and he would regenerate. The status quo, as it were, if he had never been propelled over to this universe.

Or—or—he could begin to pay back his debt to the Metacrisis and possibly have a chance at what he really wanted, his true 'reward': the simple life, the 2am taxi... _Rose_.

To hell with the status quo: it wasn't as if it had been doing much for him. That life…he was exhausted. The TARDIS had known all along, had brought him here, just when it was most necessary, so he could have a second chance. So that _both_ her thieves could have a second chance. 

Without hesitation he strode over to his compatriot and placed his hands across his solitary heart. 

"You've been so alone," he murmured softly, "how long has it been since someone did something for you? But Rose loves you, and I… I love you. Really. And you know how hard that is for me to say," he let out a weak laugh. "And most of all, the TARDIS loves you. She brought me here, for you." He paused. "But this gift is given freely, from one lonely Time Lord to another."

Golden sparks began to emanate through his fingertips again, flowing faster and faster. "Rose, get back!" he cried as the sparks turned to flaxen flames, pouring out from his hands and directly into the heart of the unbreathing and comatose Doctor. He felt the warm energy surge out with every pump of his hearts, his head light and his body heavy. It was painful, there was no doubt about it, as he felt every cell simultaneously release his sole remaining packet of regenerative energy. 

After what seemed like a century hurtled through an hourglass he collapsed on the floor, entirely spent and feeling as if he had died after all. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Rose's worried face crouched down over him.

\---

"Is he going to be okay?" he heard Rose whisper.

"Yup," a bright voiced popped back, "I'll just make some tea. Lovely tannins." He heard shuffling and a door swing open and then closed. 

Slowly he peeked open an eye and closed it again against the harsh overhead lights with a grimace. More shuffling and the lights were switched off, the only light coming from the hallway. He warily opened both eyes this time, blinking to clear his unfocused vision. 

"Rose?" he whispered in a raspy voice.

"I'm here, Doctor," she assured softly, a smile shining through her words. She moved closer and he felt a warm hand brush back the hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes again in catlike satisfaction and leaned into her hand. "You saved him, Doctor! It's amazing; I don't know what you did but he even looks his normal self again, all his bruises are gone and he's not skeletal anymore! What did you do? He wouldn't say, but I think he knows. Doctor, he's practically _giddy_ , like he's another man, like back when... He went out to bring you some tea, he—"

"I love you," he mumbled dozily in the middle of her nervously excited rambling and snuggled further into her hold on the cold floor. She had, at some point during her chatter, sunk down beside him and placed his head in her lap, still stroking his hair. Seeming to sense she wasn't going to get anything coherent out of him for the time being, she tugged at his hair playfully and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, he wasn't entirely sure what for.

They sat and lay there for a minute or so before he felt the strength to rise, rolling over into her lap and half-deliriously brushing his lips along the inside of her thigh on his way to sitting. She giggled lightly and it was the most beautiful sound in the universe. He threaded his fingers through hers as he closed his eyes once more, this time to probe how successful his actions had been. He held his breath and sent out the softest possible knock in the Metacrisis' direction. It was answered with a resounding feeling of relief and unfettered joy from both ends and he sighed with satisfaction. 

"Seriously, how did you do that?" she insisted again, nervous at his silence, "I thought you said there wasn't anything anybody could do and then BAM, you're suddenly healing him through your hands? And the light, the glow—it looked like when you were regenerating…"

"Rose," he began shakily, his body still recovering, "I'll tell you, I promise, but let's wait for the other Doctor to get back. There are choices we need to make and they should be made together."

He blew a long breath through his pursed lips and leaned back against her, exhausted by the energy those two sentences had taken to utter. Humming in reluctant acquiescence she leant back onto one hand to support his weight and stroked the fingers on her other hand through his hair. It was only a minute or so before he felt a teardrop drip onto his head and he snapped open his eyes in momentary confusion and then understanding. 

"No, no, Rose, it's—" He was interrupted, however, by the clinking of cups and loud whistling coming down the corridor. 

"Nothing like a slow, painful death to make you feel _alive_!" the other Doctor chimed, waltzing into the infirmary and grandly depositing a teacup in front of the Doctor and one into Rose's hand. 

The Doctor and Rose stared, agape, at the buoyant man tapping his toes with jubilee. The other Doctor was veritably dancing around the room, picking up and dropping medical equipment, flapping his hands around with excitement. But behind the child-like elation were those same eyes, perhaps not as dead and weary as before, but still ancient and burdened. As carefree as his movements seemed, his eyes flitted everywhere but at the pair of them, curled up together on the floor. 

"Well, did he tell you what he did?" he asked finally at the silence, locking eyes on Rose.

"Er, no, not yet," she stammered, looking down at the Time Lord in her lap. He slowly began to sit up, propping himself against the legs of the table instead 

"Well, so, here it is… That—"

"He gave me his regeneration," the other Doctor blurted out, crouching down in front of Rose and grabbing her hand to place over his torso. "Feel, here- two hearts!"

She gently ran her fingers along his chest, freezing and hovering over the beating she felt on his right side. Narrowing her eyebrows in confusion, she looked up at the Metacrisis. "But…how?"

"The regeneration energy reset my body into its default physiology. I'm fully Time Lord now, again, whatever you want to call it. Ace, that's what I'd call it." He happily thrummed his fingers along his thigh and stood back up. 

"So…you're not dying anymore?" she asked, a smile slowly spreading up her face. 

"Welll, yes and no." She looked up sharply and he quickly continued, "I'm not dying, but I am regenerating. Every cell is already starting to change, I can feel it. It'll take a while though, it's an unusual body to have to rebuild."

The original Doctor had been quiet throughout their exchange but now he took Rose's hands in his own while the other Doctor leaned back against the wall. He could see the joy mixed with perplexity in her eyes and knew she was close to being overwhelmed with all the information and changes that had occurred in the last ten minutes. 

"Rose," he began softly, "there's more, nothing bad really, just more. Do you want to take a break first? You haven't eaten anything since last night, let's go get—"

"No, just tell me now. I want…I need to know." She bit her lip, "Did you…are you dying sooner now?" She looked away and hastily continued, "Because I'm so happy for you, Doctor," she asserted, nodding at the Metacrisis, "I am, I'm ecstatic, but if he reduced what time he had left by giving you his regeneration energy… I just want to know."

"I'm not dying, Rose," the Doctor said, rubbing his thumbs along hers. 

"What?" Her wide eyes ricocheted between the two Doctors.

The previously human Doctor stepped in with a grin. "I can see it all now, oh, it's so glorious; all my senses, my connection with the TARDIS… He, we didn't know before, but the atmosphere in this universe reacts differently to nuclear radiation originating from our original universe. It neutralizes it. If he spends a few more days outside it'll be completely gone."

"That's why I was able to give my excess regeneration energy to heal him," the Doctor jumped in, eyeing her carefully. She nodded but didn't say anything, waiting, knowing there had to be more.

There was. "But here's the thing, Rose," the Metacrisis intoned gravely and moved closer, "Sorry, do you want to...?" he asked the Doctor.

"Be my guest." He was actually quite enjoying the enthusiasm in his double's voice and body language. 

"Here's the thing," the other Doctor continued, "if he goes back to the prime universe now, the remaining radiation will kill him. With no regeneration. That was his last packet of regeneration energy he gave me."

"And the TARDIS needs to leave tomorrow or she'll be completely drained of fuel," the Doctor finished and they both scratched the back of their necks in almost perfect unison while they watched for her reaction.

She stared in silence at the two men. "And that means…?" she whispered thickly.

"It means everyone gets a second chance," the Metacrisis explained softly, "it means he literally gave up his universe for me. And you. If you want."

The Doctor swiveled to directly face Rose, nerves written all over his face. He took a deep breath. "I'm staying in this universe, and the other Doctor, the new Doctor, is going to fly the TARDIS back home." He swallowed. "You could say I'm retiring, found a great replacement" he said playfully to lighten the mood, to force the frog out of his throat, but Rose only scrunched up her forehead and shook her head in disbelief.

He looked searchingly into her eyes. "Here's the thing. I'd love for you to stay…with me. Be with me," he just-short-of pleaded. "Our forevers…they match up now. I only have this one life left; it'll likely be longer than a human lifespan, I'm still a Time Lord after all, but then again, it seems like your Bad Wolf genetic mutations might have given the same to you by resetting your telomeres."

She opened her mouth, but he stopped her with a gentle finger to her lips. " _But_ , and I can't stress this enough, it's your choice. The new Doctor here can also take you and anyone else back to your home universe. I've lived on Earth before and I can do it again. New universe; new things to discover. I could be a curator of a museum or something—"

"Ooh, a curator…" the new Doctor enthused, rolling the word around his mouth with great satisfaction.

"You could settle back down in London or wherever you wanted or you could travel with the Doctor again, in the TARDIS," the Doctor continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. 

"I'd love for you to come," the new Doctor confirmed softly, "if that's what you choose. But Rose?"

"Mmm?" she hummed dazedly.

"I don't expect you will." He swallowed, once, twice. "And I understand completely. I squandered my chance on fear and self-doubt: don't waste yours on the same."

Crocodile tears began rolling down her eyes and she buried her head in her folded knees. There was a brief awkward struggle as both Doctors automatically reached out to comfort her, but just as quickly the Metacrisis snatched his hand back and shoved it in his pocket, rocking back on his heels. The Doctor wrapped his arm around her, tucking her shaking form into his chest and stroking her hair.

"I've got some things to pick up at Exeter; mind if I pilot her over there?" the new Doctor asked after a beat, managing to keep the bittersweet and longing expression on his face out of his voice.

"She's all yours now; give her a test drive," the Doctor responded, catching his double's eye and telepathically conveying his gratitude. 

His arms tightened around Rose as the new Doctor bounded out of the room and he bowed his head forward to kiss her temple.

"You sacrificed everything," she choked into his tearstained shirt, "why?"

Dismayed, he pulled her face up to meet his eyes. How could she not see?  
"I sacrifice nothing when I stand to gain _everything_. You, _you_ are what I want. Not gallivanting aimlessly and alone across the galaxies.

"But…"

"All that I've done, all that I've seen…Perhaps its only purpose was to lead me to you. The long way round, I suppose, but every step, every single one has been worth it."

More tears streamed down her cheeks but she didn't turn away this time. "But the TARDIS…"

"That, I admit will be difficult." He paused to brush a strand of hair behind her ears. "But leaving you again… I don't even want to think about it. Honestly, I could have just gone back to our natural universe and regenerated, but it was never even an option. Not after I saw you."

"You'll be so bored, trapped on Earth," she insisted. 

"And what makes you think we'd be confined to Earth? There's a whole universe to explore, Rose Tyler. I assure you, I am more than competent at building vortex manipulators and other space-time traveling contraptions. Graceless but effective. Just need to grab a few spare parts from the TARDIS and Bob's your uncle."

"And—"

"What exactly are you trying to talk me out of, Rose?" he interrupted with a twinkle in his eye. "Besides, it should be me attempting to convince you to stay with me. 

She bit her lip, opening her mouth and the closing it. He waited patiently for her to spill her concerns. Finally she looked up at him, biting her lip. "I shouldn't think this way but I can't help it. You've already left me and broken my heart twice; once in another body, sure, but it was still you. How can I be sure you won't do it again?"

"Marry me."

Startled, she stared at him for only a second before the TARDIS shuddered in landing. Her face crumpled and she looked weary. "What good would that do? It's just a piece of paper."

"Not in the tradition of my people. It's unbreakable, it's—"

"What, and _force_ you to be with me forever? No thanks." Her tone was angry now, fire flashing in her eyes and she jerked out of his arms. 

"No, no, not like that. It's only externally unbreakable," he stammered; desperately trying to explain, convince her of his candor. "But it can only be undertaken when both parties are truly sincere—"

"It's not that I don't think you're sincere. I know you are. Time and real life changes things though, whatever optimistic vows you make in the beginning."

Stricken mute, the Doctor mulled over her concerns, looking for a loophole, some clever trick that would make all her well-earned insecurities fade. He failed. It may be easy to slip into love, it was often described as accidental even; falling in love. But commitment? Time seemed to slow, even to his Time Lord senses; tension crackled in the air and he knew this was the moment that would make or break all his hearts' desires.

"Fair enough," he eventually conceded and took back her hand. "I'll have to prove it to you then. Trust me, even if it's just a week at a time. I'll show you. I'll show you, week by week, until we've spent the rest of our lives wrapped up in each other."

"Yeah?" she choked out.

"Yes."

She sniffled and cleared her throat, a small smile beginning to grace her lips. "How long do you think it will be before we can travel the universe again?"

A huge grin broke out across his face. All fatigue vanished in that moment and he leapt to his feat and pulled her jubilantly to standing. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he buried his face in her neck and spun them around the room. "I love you, I love you," he kept whispering into her ear and peppering her face and throat with kisses. She giggled and looped her arms around his neck. 

"Quite right, too."

 

\---  
A/n: Quotes: WH Davies, Luke 24:29


	8. Winter's Song: the Doctor's Epilogue

The Doctor patted down the loose snowflakes on his latest snowman with satisfaction and sat back on his heels to admire the creature. Snowmen. Snowmen were safe. Snowmen were lovely. They didn't ask him difficult questions, didn't look at him with sad, downtrodden eyes. Their eyes were lifeless lumps of coal, sure, but—but!—they had never experienced loss or heartache, wouldn't remind him of his own. 

_"What, now? I kiss her now?"  
"Kazran, trust me. It's this or go to your room and design a new kind of screwdriver. Don't make my mistakes." _

Dark, cold eyes. He could do that. He could harden his heart to match the snowman's, plant a permanent grin on his face too; it was nearly there anyway. They'd make great friends and he could keep rebuilding them whenever something went wrong; an army of snowmen. If he even wanted friends, that is, being all icy and seasonless. He would be the winter.

A verse, unbidden and only half-remembered echoed through his head when he stepped back to gaze at his trail of snowmen. 

_And through the Winter's crystal veil, Love's roses blossom red,  
For him who lives in a house that has a snowman in the yard._

He _hated_ snowmen. 

_Rose_.

Her name was already beginning to feel foreign in his mind, had never been uttered on his new lips. Most days those precious memories were locked firmly behind a steel door in his mind, the emotions almost but not quite numb. She was happy, he reminded himself, futilely trying to push the door back closed against the onslaught of images that spring to attention. He had made his choice, a long time ago. She was happy, she was happy. Happy with him and happy without him and he was happy, happy, happy. Happy. 

He rolled the word along his tongue, across his lips. Happy. Such a senseless word. From _'hap'_ ; chance. He'd had his chance, so, well, he must be happy. 

 

_"What do you want?"  
"A simple life."_

 

Truthfully, he wasn't exactly unhappy, despite his mini-diatribe just now about the frozen hearts of snowmen. And those long years of being a human made him ever more thankful for his Time Lord physiology, that he was a Time Lord at all. He knew he was more 'alien' in this body, more detached and less human, and that suited him just fine. Letting his companions see him as they always had in the past, before his threshing at the hands of the Time War, asexual and untouchable…it was safer. Pretending to be clueless about human culture was refreshing, as if he could detach himself from all that pain and knowledge, as if he was above it all. And if he acted childishly sometimes, well, a lot, it was more than justified, he thought as he scratched his ear. A painful, prolonged death and losing your beloved would do that to a person…

_"Could you do it? Could you do this? Think about it, Doctor. One last day with your beloved. Which day would you choose?"_

Which day? Any day. Any single day, any hour. A minute was all he'd taken in the end. An ill-advised but necessary moment after leaving her in the parallel universe. He had needed to see her again with the eyes that had caught hers the first time he'd said those sacred three words. To see her before all the pain he had inflicted, back when her eyes still sparkled with innocence and eagerness. Her whole future was spread in front of her that New Year's morning; he almost wanted to warn her, tell her to run as far as she could if a crabby man in a blue box asked her to travel with him. And yet, he knew she wouldn't trade away a millisecond of her ensuing life and he was unwilling to give her up either.

_"Tell you what. I bet you're going to have a really great year."_

He saw the Ponds coming up behind him, dressed in ludicrous costumes of some sort. Humans, he thought, completely aware of the irony. His ninth self had disparaged them; his tenth self adored them like pets or babies. His human self, well… There was vague empathy, of course, but his memories of that time were so infused in joy and sorrow, love and longing, doubt and loss of control, that he tended to block out the details. Being human was intense, painful. Being human was the reason he lost her. Humans. 

_"Better a broken heart than no heart at all."_

Maybe it was time he started believing his own, admittedly pious, platitudes. Just because he had screwed up with Rose didn't mean he should shut down completely. He'd be nothing better than grouchy old Kazran. And there _was_ someone he was running from, someone from whom he was jealously guarding his raw and vulnerable new hearts…

He'd barely noticed the Ponds turning away toward the TARDIS, having apparently spoken at great length on auto-pilot, when Amy hesitated and caught his eye.

"Are you…Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay," the Doctor continued on autopilot, "Are you?"

"Of course. It'll be their last day together, won't it?"

Oh, yes. And it would be bittersweet. Life was like that though. The pain was worth it, in the end. The other Doctor, back in the gingerbread universe, had realized that just in time. Perhaps it was time he did too, let go of the bitter memories of pain and seek the sweet joy of chance.

"Everything has got to end some time, otherwise nothing would ever get started." He barely registered what he was saying until after it was out. 

The Centurion popped his head out the TARDIS door and babbled something about Marilyn Monroe, he responded back in autopilot, and eventually the Ponds both disappeared into his ship. He looked up at the falling snow with the strongest sense of peace he'd felt in awhile. He had things to do, people with chaotic curls and terrifying blue books to crack open his grown-over hearts for. 

 

_"Halfway out of the dark."_

 

 

\---

**A/N:** _And voila: canon remains intact. Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement; this is the first time in my entire life I've written fiction (or anything really), so I wasn't sure how it would turn out._

_One-shot Ten/Rose follow-up if you need your happy ending: 'Wild Summer in her Gaze'_

_Poem is by Joyce Kilmer_

**Author's Note:**

> \--The title comes from Frances Cornford's poem 'The Avenue'--


End file.
